


Coming Home 1: Promises to Keep

by Raven (Temaris)



Series: Coming Home [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Implied Child Abuse, Injury to Child, Kid!JD, Kid!Vin, Kidfic, Kidnapping, Little Britches ATF AU, child trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temaris/pseuds/Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A court case where Buck is the star witness puts six year old JD in the firing line.</p><p>July 2003</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home 1: Promises to Keep

**Author's Note:**

> This story changed, and grew, and changed, and changed. I have to thank Barbaretta Hayden, who was honest, even though she wasn't sure I wanted to hear it, and far kinder than an importunate stranger deserved. This is a better story for it.
> 
> More notes and thanks [here.](http://www.cadarnle.net/Raven/gf2notes.htm) They are best read _after_ the story unless you want to be completely spoiled for it.
> 
> [ Awards](http://www.cadarnle.net/Raven/awards.htm) for _Coming Home_
> 
> * * *

_5 p.m. ATF Building, Denver (Mountain time)_

The room on the screen was grey. Boxes and scraps of paper littered the floor; a coke can was just visible lying discarded on the floor under metal shelving stacked high with anonymous boxes. It was easier in many ways to examine the room closely, looking desperately for clues, than to look at the scene's focus, a small child hiccupping in the slow aftermath of tears.

The boy was huddled tight into a corner; face buried in his jean clad knees. The small bare feet were filthy with blood and grime; ominously red smudged footprints weaved in uneven steps across the room. A blanket was folded next to the child, a bottle of water, a bag of unopened chips, another of chocolate covered candies.

"JD..." The voice on the television was unexpected to the agents watching, and apparently to the child too. JD jumped, but otherwise stayed still, face hidden, arms tightly wrapped around his knees.

"JD, look up!" The voice was distorted by some sort of electronic effect. "JD!"

The child turned his head slowly, and they all leaned forward, trying to tell how badly -- if he had been hurt. The small face was grubby and streaked with clear trails now dry. His eyes were terrified, and he pushed himself further back into the corner.

"JD, say something to your Daddy."

JD shook his head, and tremors slowly started to build visibly through the six year old body.

"Just wave and say hi to the camera, and we'll send a picture of you to your Daddy." The voice was trying to coax him, but the electronic anonymizer on the camera operator's voice made it harsh and JD shook his head again.

"Come on, kid. I don't have all day."

Chris swallowed as he saw JD's lips form 'Vin' silently, and his face crumple into dry eyed misery.

"Your brother's just fine. You want him to stay that way?" JD nodded and his eyes widened as the camera came closer, until his face nearly filled the screen. The voice came back harsh and cruel. "Then say something, or we'll find your big brother and we'll bring him here too."

"No. Pleafe."

JD spoke for the first time and they all leaned in trying to catch any nuance that would let them know how injured the child was. Judging by the unexpected lisp the boy almost certainly had some kind of damage to his mouth.

"Just tell your Daddy you're fine, and the other thing we discussed."

JD nodded and closed his eyes. "Da, I-- I'm scared."

"Are you hurt?" the voice insisted, mockingly aware of the fear this tape would cause when it was seen by the boy's family.

"Lost a toof." He curled his upper lip up and they could see the gap in the small baby teeth. "An' my tummy hurts, Da, please, come an' get me. I'll be good. I's sorry." The child pulled his knees in closer to his torso, and Chris caught Nathan shifting forward, frowning sharply.

"And?"

"He says if you tell the judge about Mr. Kemp, they won't give me back." Wide brown eyes looked up at the cameraman, "But you gotta give me back. I along to Buck and Chris and Vin. You shouldn't have stoleded me. Wanna go home..." His face crumpled on the last word, slow tears running down the grubby little face.

Chris sat back into his chair, a hand rubbing slowly over his face. JD's six year old misery was ripping him apart.

"Kemp must be very afraid of the consequences of Mr. Wilmington's testimony," Standish observed, his voice coolly analytical. "I wonder what else he is hiding?" Chris flicked a glance at his undercover agent, and took in the rigid mask of indifference barely concealing sick horror. The boys adored their Uncle Ezra, and it was mutual. "What will you do?"

"Nothing. He can't withdraw his testimony." Chris replied, his voice a dry raven's croak.

"What about the lad? Do either of them even know?"

Chris shook his head. He couldn't give Buck that burden, much less Vin.

"They'll blame you," Standish pointed out gently.

"They'll have the right person then," was all Chris said in response, and fixed his eyes back on the screen.

"It's Kemp's fault, not yours, brother," Josiah's deep voice was cold with rage. "Any man who can do this is a monster. But you must tell the boy and Buck."

"Tell him what? That JD is being held by a murdering gang of weapons dealers and worse, who probably have no intention of ever giving the child back? That one boy's life is more important than the hundreds that we can save if we cut the organization's head off?" He stalked over to the wall, looking away from the screen. Josiah paused the tape, eyeing the rest of team with concern.

"This is JD, Chris. If it were anyone else's son you would tell them. He's a child. His father deserves to know; even if there is nothing we can do about it."

"No." Chris's voice was cold, but no one made the mistake of thinking it was lack of emotion chilling him.

"Buck will never forgive you." Nathan's voice was rough, as though speaking through some impediment in his throat. "And Vin..."

Chris let out a small sound, somewhere between a sigh and a choke. "He's not first in that line."

A hand rested on his back and he froze until it lifted.

"Vin already knows something's wrong," Ezra pointed out. "And Buck will want to speak to JD. He may even have guessed already."

"He has to testify." Chris said sharply.

"Then we have to find JD," Josiah said firmly.

None of them asked the thought on all their minds. What if they couldn't? Some kidnap victims were never seen again. Or found dead. They'd all seen the terrible things criminals would do to innocents. The thought of that little body-- Chris shook his head sharply.

"No." Chris said softly. "I'm not losing him again." His eyes were arctic ice. "I wonder how Kemp feels about a little reciprocity." His hand drifted down to his sidearm.

"Let us tell Buck," Josiah said with equal chill, "and I will help you rip the sonuvabitch's world apart."

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _6 pm, Austin, Texas (Central Time)_

Buck Wilmington sighed. He was alone, and lonely and miserable. He hated the dingy, pokey hotel room that had been his home for the last two weeks. He hated that he couldn't make any phone calls to his family. He hated that everywhere he went he had an armed escort.

Mostly, he hated not seeing the boys, or his friends. He smiled briefly, thinking of how much he would give just to see JD bounding in, or Vin's eyes scrunching up in his silent equivalent of a giggle. Or -- he stopped himself.

Damn. If he wasn't careful he was going to end up bawling into his mustache, and ruining years of careful cultivation.

He'd spent the day reiterating, over, and over, and over, all the details of the bust, from opening to wind down. The court room had been stuffy and hot. None of the windows opened, and the air conditioning didn't work. Now, he got to spend his evening in another room with no windows and no ac. It was safer, so they said. Meant that the ATF case wouldn't fall apart because their star witness ended up with a bullet through the head. He wasn't sure what benefit the lack of cold air conferred, but he was better off not asking. He'd only end up shooting one of this own bodyguards and Chris would make him do the paperwork.

He yawned, the close heat getting to him. He thought about getting a shower, then decided, in a vaguely indecisive manner to leave it till later, so he didn't miss the phone. He yawned again. It had been a good day's work, taking that monster down, but right now, with his first couple of hours privacy in a week barring bathroom breaks, he was sprawled out in a too small chair, feeling claustrophobic and wishing he'd never heard of Ric Kemp.

For that matter, he hadn't been too keen on the man *before* they busted him either...

//  
"Certainly, Mr. Fletcher," Kemp smiled at Standish grimly, "if you would come this way?"

Buck walked behind him, his eyes flicking narrowly at every entrance, every window and door, every person walking by: every inch the good bodyguard. Which was why he was the one who noticed the cache of 'other merchandise' that Kemp was keeping for his 'specialist customers'.

Kemp's voice faded into the background as he drifted every so slightly away from them and tried to get a closer look.

"Interested, Mr. Smith?" A hand on his arm was removed with a sharp snap of his wrist.

"Mr. Kemp." Buck nodded politely, keeping his eyes low. He wanted to spit in the man's face, and instead said coolly, with a jerk of his head back at the room of huddled children. "You really mean it when you tell us *anything* can be bought."

He licked his lips, as though excited by the thought, and cut his eyes back to Ezra. The man was waiting with his eyes narrowed and a displeased look on his face. Only Buck knew that the anger in his eyes was not for him when Ezra spoke.

"Smith, I don't have time for your shopping expeditions. Talk to Mr. Kemp later, understood."

"Sorry, sir."

Kemp clapped a hand on his shoulder and grinned at him, his eyes like lizard's, cold, unblinking. "I think we'll have some business to discuss afterwards my friend." He ushered Buck back to where Ezra was waiting. "If all goes well, I'll maybe even discount you a virgin." He watched carefully, but Buck's face showed only stupidity and twisted eagerness and Kemp turned back to Ezra, dismissing Buck from his attention.

"Mr. Fletcher, we've spoken of smaller amounts of plastique, and other such explosives, but I believe from what you have been saying, that I may have something rather special that is much more appropriate for what I understand your requirements to be." He gestured them towards a glass fronted room. "Please, put on the overalls and masks."

Ezra's head tilted. "Surely you do not--"

"I do indeed, Mr. Fletcher. The motherlode itself." He waited for them to pull on the heavy garments and then pressed a button. A blast shield slowly lifted and a second window appeared behind the first. A table inside contained a canister marked with radiation hazard symbols and Buck's eyes went wide.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath.

"Not something I show just any man, Mr. Fletcher, as you will appreciate." Kemp grinned again, his voice smug. "I believe that may encompass your specifications?"

"How-- how much is in there?" Ezra sounded as though he was looking at his last promise of salvation, and Kemp nodded.

"Beautiful, isn't it? A mere nine ounces, gentlemen, of weapons grade plutonium. Enough to remove the city of your choice from offending your sight."

"You have exceeded, surpassed my fondest hopes, Mr. Kemp," Ezra's accent thickened and he turned away from the sterile lab to meet Buck's eyes.

"Then let us discuss prices. And, perhaps later, Mr. Smith and I can discuss our little... hobby." Cold eyes met buck's again, and he smiled warmly back at Kemp. Yeah, we'll 'discuss' hobbies all right.  
//

He still felt sick thinking of what he had seen. The seven children, wearing ordinary clothes, clothes his own son wore, wrists tied, ankles hobbled, huddled together. He had only been able to think of one reason for Kemp to have children hidden in his warehouse, far down in the secured basement. So he'd played along, taken photographs, as many as he could, including a couple with Kemp showing off the children. His stomach churned.

"JD," he said softly, concentrating on the sweet little face, memories of grubby features and loud shrieks of laughter; feet that were smaller than his own hands but could make more noise than any three grown men running through the house. He smiled and sniffed. He and Kemp had 'discussed' the children later, until Buck had more than enough evidence. A week later Kemp was arrested as he made the sale of plutonium to Ezra, and six of the seven children were saved, unharmed.

The seventh might be okay. In time.

He fished in his pocket, pulled out his wallet and opened it. JD's face grinned up at him and he brushed a gentle finger over the plastic protecting the picture. "Miss ya lil'bit." His smile was bittersweet.

And now he was stuck in a city far from home, waiting to testify on the sting operation that had nailed Kemp's weapons business -- and the child sex slave ring that he had been running on the side. The rest of the team had testified earlier in the week, but only he had seen the kidnapped children, he had taken the pictures and he was the one who had had the crucial conversation with Kemp about buying and selling underage children for sex.

He sighed and glanced at the phone. He wanted to talk to JD, or Chris, or anyone at all, but everyone agreed that it was much the best that there be no chance that Kemp or anyone else, such as the press, got anywhere near the boys. Not initiating contact was a small way of ensuring that. Chris would call at irregular intervals and he got to top up on his daily noisy kids allowance. He smiled faintly, and put the picture away again.

He checked his watch. Chris had promised to call. He had been supposed to be here when Buck went through his testimony with the prosecution this morning, and for the defense cross examination which was expected to be unpleasant and tiring. Instead Chris had vanished out of Austin right after Buck took the stand this morning, and he hadn't heard a thing since.

His stomach clenched, and he took several deep, steadying breaths. JD was fine. There was a perfectly logical reason that no one had called.

He swallowed and picked up his cell phone again and tried another number. To his amazement, this time the call was picked up.

"Standish."

"Ez?"

"Buck! And how is Austin?"

"Fine. Great. Look, Ez, I was trying to get hold of Chris."

"Just a moment -- if you'll wait one moment?" Ezra asked, as though he were some high class receptionist.

"Okay. Yeah. I'll hold on." Something in Ezra's voice was off, and it shook him. He walked to the bed, dropping silently onto the rumpled comforter, elbows on his knees, head in his hand. He could hear a muffled exchange of words, and the phone rattling as it was picked off a table again.

"Chris?"

"Buck."

Buck closed his eyes. "What happened to him?" he whispered. That arctic tone to Chris's voice could only be caused by two things -- harm to the boys or harm to the team. And his gut was screaming JD at him.

"He-- I'm *sorry*, Buck."

"No. No. Chris Larabee, don't you tell me you're sorry. What's wrong with JD?"

"He was at Gloria's. I was calling in every hour, the guys were keeping an eye on the place. I called in some favors from the PD."

"What happened?" he asked in a whisper. He was already sure he knew. Knew that he would never see his little boy alive again.

"Someone--someone took the kid from her back yard. She says she took her eyes off him for about two minutes, and he was gone."

"He's not --?" He slid bonelessly off the bed to the floor, eyes tight closed.

"No. Not so far as we know, Buck. We did everything. Gloria did everything right. She called the cops, they called us and the FBI. They had road blocks up in less than an hour."

"So where the hell is he, Chris?"

"I don't know," he said helplessly. "I wish I could tell you different, but I can't. I'm expecting the feds here any minute. They're going to head the case."

"No! You and the boys. I trust you guys to get him back. Fibs couldn't find their butts with two hands, a street map and neon signposts."

"My hands are tied, you know that." Chris sounded desperate, but Buck ignored it.

"Bullshit. You've never done what they wanted before." He wanted JD back. And if that meant pushing Larabee. Punishing him for not being there (*I* wasn't there)...

"I have to stay on the case, Buck. I'm not getting thrown off it for being 'too involved'."

"Wouldn't make a difference. I'll bet the boys have more information put together by the time the FBI get off their fat butts than the feebs ever find out."

Chris snorted. "I'll do everything I can, Buck, but--"

"Nothing on the road blocks?"

"No. No sightings. He's been on the news every half hour. They've holed up somewhere close, or else they got out real fast."

Buck nodded in silent agreement. "Have you heard anything from the bastards yet?"

"Yeah. A tape. Came in this afternoon."

"What? A tape? When?" Buck yelled. "When the hell did this happen? How long have you been keeping this from me, Larabee?"

"You were in court. There was no way to get word to you," he replied defensively, knowing full well how furious he would have been in Buck's place.

"Chris, dammit!"

"They took him this morning," Chris admitted. "Gloria called the cops at nine twenty-eight. I got word and came home immediately. We only got the tape about half an hour ago after it was checked as a suspicious package." He heard Buck draw breath and hurried on, trying to calm his friend, "Buck, it's only been eight hours, we've got a full scale alert out for him. Someone's got to have seen something. We'll get him back." It was a promise that both knew might not be kept.

He took a tight breath. "What do they want?" he asked calmly.

"You. Off the witness stand; lying; whatever it takes to clear Kemp."

"They've got it." Buck gripped the cell phone tightly enough that the plastic creaked under his hand.

"No."

"I don't care, Chris. It's JD..."

"Buck--"

"It's my boy."

"Buck-- we don't even know if he's still--"

"No! Don't say it!" Buck tried to prevent the words entering his thought but it was too late. "You haven't spoken to him -- no direct contact?"

"None," Chris confirmed, and with some surprise Buck realised there were tears on his face. "Just a videotape recorded around two-thirty this afternoon, according to the time stamp. He was okay, Buck. Unhappy but okay."

"That was hours ago. God. For all we know he could already be--"

"No!" Chris's voice was harsh and Buck jumped. "No. He's not. I won't let him be."

"Chris--" His stomach churned and he held still, concentrating on not losing it. Later he could fall apart, when his bodyguards were asleep.

"Don't you fucking dare give up on that kid! Don't you give up on me. We're going to find him, and you're going to nail Kemp to the mast with his own guts, you hear me?" Larabee's voice was the more terrifying for never rising above a harsh whisper.

Buck swallowed. "I hear you. Chris--" he stopped, trying to find the words. "It's not your fault, okay? Tell Vin it's not his fault either."

He gripped the phone tighter, hearing the shuddery breath out that Larabee made.

"I -- I gotta go, Chris. We'll talk tomorrow. Say goodnight to the guys from me. And Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"Go home. Give Vin a hug from me, okay?"

Chris's voice roughened. "Yeah. I'll do that. Buck, we'll make this right."

"Yeah. Night, Chris." He hung up without waiting for Chris' reply. He didn't want to know more.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _Denver, 5.30pm (Mountain time)_

Chris slammed the phone down and stalked out of the office. His team mates stared after him with varying degrees of understanding and pity.

"So," Ezra said finally. "Mr. Sanchez, if you would be so kind as to start profiling likely culprits from the man's organization, I will continue to talk to my contacts, refocus the queries, see if there is any word yet. Mr. Jackson, if you could investigate possible locations for keeping one small child that cross refer with the former senator's holdings?"

The others nodded silently and retreated to their computers and phones.

He returned some twenty minutes later, bruises darkening across his knuckles and a suspiciously scrubbed look to his face that might have indicated cold water used to conceal strong misery, but no one, not even Jackson commented.

"Boys?" he asked curtly, glancing around the room.

Ezra was talking softly on the phone, so it fell to Josiah to explain how they had divided up the labor. Chris nodded.

"Sarah McKinnon at the FBI contacted Travis. It got pushed up to their team from the scene of crime people. They'll be joining us here shortly to pick up any evidence," he said with apparent equanimity. Only the clenching and unclenching fist suggested he was less than happy with the arrangement. "Travis told me to keep my face out of their case." He grinned ferally. "I say we help them wherever we can."

The three men grinned back at him, and Chris nodded again. "I'll be going through the notes Ez and Buck put together on the organization. See who's still out there who could do this."

Josiah nodded as Chris took most the notes he had been working with. "In that case, I'm going to watch the tape again. See if I can pick anything up from it before McKinnon's people get here."

He reached for the remote and set the machine to rewind. As he waited he rummaged in his desk drawer for something, finally producing a set of earbuds. He carefully turned the screen so the others couldn't see it and plugged the ear phones in, then sat back, remote by his hand, scribbling rapidly as he watched. They could mostly ignore the clicking and whirring as he played and rewound, played and rewound.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _6pm, (Mountain Time)_

JD was cold and hungry and his face hurt. He'd tried nibbling at some of the potato chips earlier, but the salt had stung his split lip and his gum where the tooth had been knocked out when one of the bad guys had hit him. It made the chips taste of blood too. His back ached too, and he uncurled himself a little. The room was messier than his and Vin's at home, and he bit at his lip.

He wanted to go home.

Buck and Chris and Vin were looking for him. He was absolutely sure of that. Vin had always saved him from the bad guys, and Buck and Chris had taken them far away from cold places where there was neither food, nor warmth, nor the secure comfort of family. But they weren't here right now, and he was absolutely determined that he was going to find them.

The room had only one locked door, and no windows, but that didn't mean no way out. He'd already seen a gap in the wall, high above the shelves and pipes, just big enough for a small six year old to squeeze through. He was sitting down for now. Scuff marks on the door showed where he'd kicked at the metal until his feet hurt and his toes swelled up. They'd taken his shoes away to stop him banging on the door and kicking their shins, but that didn't bother him, his feet had been bare for months when he and Vin had been on the streets and he knew it would stop hurting eventually. It always did. Though he didn't know it, he was retreating back into the wary alertness that Vin had tried to teach him.

He prodded at his feet and tried hard not to cry out at the pain. There'd been sharp stuff on the floor. Some of it was glass, some of it metal, and all of it hurt. Vin would tell him to be quiet. Buck would hug him. Chris would tell him to be brave.

He stumbled up to his feet, clinging to the imagined comfort. He tugged on the shelves a couple of times, and satisfied that they only wobbled a little, started scrambling up them. His foot caught a box painfully; it fell onto the floor, where its contents, hundreds of tiny packets, scattered and rattled. He froze, but no one came.

He frowned. If he'd been home someone would have shouted his name, come running to see what he'd done, and he sniffed, rubbing his nose into his shoulder. He waited for what felt like forever, crouched on a shelf near the ceiling. They might come. He wanted someone to come, and pick him up and promise him he was safe and keep him warm, but the bad men weren't going to do it. He sniffed again, and stood. The hole in the wall was dark and he hesitated, looking longingly back down into the room.

"Wish you was here, Vin. Or Da or Dad," he whispered plaintively. The hole wasn't just dark, it was wet and slimy. Filthy black gunge coated his hands and smeared on his clothes as he scrabbled against the wall to crawl inside.

He fell with a thump, the opening almost his own height above the floor. He clutched at the knee he'd landed on, his face scrunching up with carefully silent misery. He couldn't hear anything close. No doors opening or people yelling, looking for him. There was a sound like a bath running far away, and if he squinted he could sort of make out shapes up towards the sound, but nothing else.

He uncurled from around his knee and looked around. Light filtered through from the room he'd been locked in, and he stood up unsteadily, one hand on the slimy wall. The darkness stretched both ways, but something tugged him towards the fractionally brighter direction. He couldn't see the ceiling, though the walls seemed to curl over him. The ground under his feet was sludgy, and he grinned, wiggling his toes in it, enjoying the sensation of stuff squelching up between his toes. It felt cool on his cut and bruised feet and he wiggled them in deeper, then started trotting confidently along the dim tunnel, running his hand along the wall for balance. He stumbled and fell only moments later, catching himself on his hands and knees again.

"Ick!" He shook the muck off his hands, screwing his face up in disgust as the stuff splattered everywhere. "This place is worse than horses." He wiped his hands off on his pants, and then rubbed his face clean with his sleeves. His feet stung, and his knee was throbbing where he'd fallen. He prodded at his mouth and felt another tooth wobble next to the missing one. His mouth hurt where the man had hit him, and his back still ached. The stuff on his finger tasted horrible too.

"Da?" he called hopelessly, wondering if they would ever find him again. "Dad?" There was no reply and he slowly got up off his knees and started walking again, trudging with his head down. It smelled horrible in here too. He sniffed again, clearing his nose and gagged at the stink. Worse than the bathroom after Uncle Josiah's chili. He sniffed again, this time to swallow back tears.

The light was getting closer. He broke into an incautious run as he saw clear sky glimmering through metal bars.

"Did it!" JD said triumphantly and squeezed through the gap in the bars. "Stupid bad guys." It was barely wide enough even for a skinny undersized kid, but he dragged himself through. He was standing in what looked like a huge grey pipe, the end hanging over empty space. He gripped the bars with one hand and leaned out precariously, peering down at the drop into what looked like a river a few feet below. The pipe seemed to come straight out over a river bank, and he grinned. First he was Mole, and now he was gonna be Ratty. It was dark outside, no moon or stars shone to help him see, and he shivered, a little cold, a little frightened. He curled up in the muck to wait for the dawn and fell asleep in minutes.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _7pm Denver (Mountain Time)_

"This is Agent McKinnon, Agent Ferretti, Agent Singh; Agent Chris Larabee, Josiah Sanchez, Ezra Standish, and Nathan Jackson," Travis made the introductions coolly.

"Agent Larabee, we've seen the tape, and I assure you, we will find John as quickly as possible." Sarah McKinnon held out her hand patiently until the man reluctantly shook. "I understand you're John's guardian while his father is testifying in the Kemp trial?"

"That's precisely correct, Ms McKinnon," Standish smiled easily at her when Larabee failed to answer. "Senior agent Larabee stands in loco parentis for John Daniel, he is his nominated guardian in such times that Agent Wilmington is unable to be present." He frowned slightly as McKinnon nodded knowingly, "Ms. McKinnon?"

"Do go on," she said quickly, smoothing out her expression.

"Very well. As you know," he flicked a sympathetic glance at his boss, "The child was snatched from the care of his child minder, Mrs. Gloria Potter."

"You've seen the tape; you know as much as we do," Larabee said shortly. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be talking to Kemp?"

"There's no way to prove a link--"

"No way!" Larabee erupted. "I'd say the tape is pretty damn conclusive!"

"The gentleman in question may not be aware of the actions taken. It could be someone entirely unrelated to the case using the excuse."

Larabee was speechless.

McKinnon raised a conciliatory hand. "Now, I'm not saying that there's no connection, because clearly, the obvious answer is that there is one. But I'm just pointing out, Agent Larabee, that I'm starting here. I might end up somewhere else, but I'm starting here. Okay?" She smiled tensely at him

Larabee's jaw tensed and released. "I'm going to talk to Buck."

"Buck Wilmington?" McKinnon asked sharply as he turned to leave. Larabee paused and nodded curtly. "I'll come with you."

"No, you won't," he bit out.

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you impeding the investigation into John's kidnapping?"

"No, I'm about to tell my oldest friend it's been ten hours and I still don't know where his son is. And because he's in a safe location in another city, waiting to give evidence against your not necessarily connected Mr. Kemp, I'll be telling him over a secured phone line. I really don't think you need to be there."

McKinnon looked away briefly, "I'm sorry, but Agent Larabee, I am going to have to speak to him at some point." She held his eyes and conceded, "But not just now."

"Ms McKinnon, Mr. Ferretti, Mr. Singh. Judge." Larabee nodded and left the room, his team following him silently.

Travis drew a deep breath, "You have to understand, Larabee and the rest of his team treat JD like he's their own boy as much as he is Wilmington's."

"There's another boy, correct?" McKinnon asked thoughtfully.

"That's right. Vin Tanner was adopted by Larabee the same time JD was adopted by Wilmington."

"And they all live together out on a horse ranch north of the city?" Behind her, her team exchanged looks that Travis couldn't decipher, but sent a prickle up his back.

"That's correct -- this information is in the briefing pack that you received before you arrived here," he frowned at them.

"Yes. Of course. Director Travis, I wonder, if I may, could I ask you some more about the children and their parents?" She was rigorously polite, and Travis suddenly got it. What she and her little bunch of yahoos were oh so delicately trying to suggest.

He sat back in his chair and folded his hands together as though in thought while he tried to decide on a course of action. Laughing in her face was out, unless he forced her to be more explicit. Sweet ignorance, he decided, and frowned as though puzzled.

"What do you need to know? You have all the details of the incident, the cases that Agent Wilmington has been working on recently, and the reason he is not currently available."

"Just gathering the facts, sir. I was wondering if perhaps there might be some other reason that the child would be removed from his family."

"Removed? Removed seems a little mild for a kidnapping where we already have a ransom tape in. Far be it from me to direct your actions, but perhaps you should start with the 'obvious', and worry about your pet theories some other time?" It was not a suggestion.

"Certainly. Of course. Yes, sir." McKinnon chickened out and tucked the folder back under her arm without pushing it. "Well, thank you for your time, Director Travis."

Travis held his hand out to her. When she took it he pulled her towards him across the table.

"Agent McKinnon. If I hear a whisper, the merest flicker of a trace of a rumor about whatever little scenario your bunch of hoodlums is concocting, I will have the lot of you arrested for hate crimes and obstruction of justice. And if the boy dies while you're off chasing wild geese, you will be on the stand for murder one."

McKinnon paled until the freckles stood out like spattered blood across her cheekbones. "Yes, sir."

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Chris didn't get home until well after ten in the evening. As he pulled in he sighed. The lights were blazing from the windows, and a small figure huddled in one of them disappeared only to appear abruptly once more, briefly silhouetted in the light pouring from the opened front door.

He parked and Vin was pulling the car door open before he even got the seatbelt fully off. The boy scrambled up onto his lap and Chris held him close, both completely silent.

Vin's body shook with soundless grief and Larabee flinched. He'd hoped that Vin wouldn't know, wouldn't have realised what he saw meant, that he might be able to pretend everything was fine. A small part of his brain scoffed at the wishful thinking, pointing out every circumstance that made it impossible that his son not know, not feel responsible, and he shivered, petting the boy's back, holding his head close to his shoulder.

"I love you," he whispered into soft hair, bleached blond by the summer sun. "Shhh. It's okay. It wasn't your fault." He pressed his lips against the tip of the boy's ear. "We'll get him back."

Vin burrowed in closer and said nothing.

"Let's get indoors, okay, pard?" Chris eased out of the car, keeping Vin wrapped in one arm while locking it up with his free hand.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked as they stepped inside the house. Mrs. Potter was watching them and she shook her head sadly.

"I'm so sorry, Chris," she said miserably.

For a moment he wanted to scream at her. Where were you? How could you let them take him? But better sense prevailed, and he shook his own head.

"It wasn't your fault, Gloria. The only people to blame are the bastards who took him."

Vin shivered and Chris tightened his hold.

"I want to get this one to bed, can you come back about seven tomorrow?"

She nodded. "Anything I can do to help. Mrs. Jackson called and offered to take him as well, if you'd prefer I didn't--"

"No. That's very good of Rain, but I trust you. We'll have a police presence here until Buck's finished testifying." He glanced at Vin, "You're getting your own personal bodyguard, cowboy," but Vin didn't respond.

"Is there any news at all?" she said wistfully, and Chris shook his head mutely. She didn't need to know about the ransom tape, or the deductions that his teams was pulling out of what at first looked like thin air.

"Well, I'll let you two be. Take care of yourself, sweetheart." She leaned in to press a soft kiss on Vin's cheek. "You too, Chris," and she impulsively hugged them both. "I'm so sorry--"

"Not your fault." He shifted Vin conspicuously, trying to say without saying that this was not a topic for in front of the child, and she sighed.

"I'll be going. Call me, anytime, any time at all if you need me, okay?"

"We will." Chris watched as she reluctantly gathered up her things and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Did you eat, kiddo?" Vin shook his head and Chris headed for the kitchen. "Me neither."

"Not hungry."

Chris smiled half-heartedly, "You know what, me neither twice, but I promised Buck I'd eat."

"Is Buck coming home?" Vin's face emerged for the first time, leaning back to examine Chris's eyes.

"Sorry, kiddo. He's got to stay and testify. Told me to give you a hug from him though." He tightened his grip on his son and Vin smiled briefly.

"Want him home." He hesitated and added, in a whisper, "Where's JD?"

Chris closed his eyes. He wasn't sure he could bear this. "I don't know, pard, I wish to God I did, but I don't. But we're going to get him back. I *swear*."

Vin regarded him with silent disappointment. "Want him back," he whispered plaintively, "Dad, make them give him back."

"I know. I know. If I could... We're doing *everything*, everything we can. There's people from the FBI, and me and Nate and Ezra and Josiah, and every policeman in the country knows to look for him. If it's possible, we'll get him back." He kicked himself for even hinting that JD might never come home. "Look, you want some milk and cookies? Cereal?"

Vin shook his head and pressed his head back into Chris's neck.

"I'm going to make a sandwich. You want one?"

He shook his head again, and Chris shrugged as if it didn't matter.

"Cheese or jelly?"

"Cheese. An' ham?"

"If I make these they're mine. Okay?"

"Okay," Vin agreed meekly, and peeked up, mischief glimmering deep in his eyes, despite the hint of tears.

"No stealing my dinner, y'hear?"

"Ahuh."

Chris made extra and put the sandwiches on a plate, found a tray, added a couple of glasses of milk. He balanced the whole thing and walked back into the living room, the tray held as far away from Vin's hands as possible, Vin sneaking quick swipes out to try and grab one of the sandwiches.

"Ah, ah, ah!"

"But, *Dad*," he whined, widening his eyes pitifully. "I's *starving*!"

Chris put the tray down carefully on the low table, and lifted Vin up away from him, "You're starving now? Hey, yeah, look," he prodded at the boy's side, "look, I can see your ribs!" Vin wriggled, giggling as he was tickled.

"Stop it!" He squirmed wildly until Chris put him down.

"Okay, you wanna come sit here and not eat my sandwiches?"

"Okay," Vin smiled and snuggled in next to his father on the sofa, promptly filching one of the sandwiches and stuffing as much as he could into his mouth. Chris growled, and pretended to move the rest out of reach, making sure that the boy would still be able to grab another one if he was still hungry after the first one. He smiled down at him as Vin gnawed around the crusts, and stopped himself from telling him to eat the crusts too. At least he was eating. His smile dimmed. He reached down for another sandwich then stopped dead.

"Ugh! Vincent Tanner, what is *this*!" He stared in revulsion at the soggy, well chewed crust that had been surreptitiously slipped back onto his plate.

"Don't know," Vin said with a perfectly straight face.

"Don't know?! Don't *know*?" He scowled at the delightedly laughing child, then relented. "Drink your milk." Vin obeyed, sipping at it, his head drooping lower and lower, occasionally snatching back up to look around through sleepy eyes, until finally he was still.

Chris finished eating the last two sandwiches, and smiled down at the small bundle of boy slumped against him. Vin was still clutching his Wolverine glass at an angle as he slept, the last of the milk tilted precariously close to Chris's leg. He gently worked the glass out of the boy's hot and sweaty little paw, and finished it off before putting it on the floor.

He made no effort to get up. Instead he carefully pulled Vin onto his lap, pulling the blanket off the back of the sofa and wrapping it over them both. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. Vin smelled of soap, and milk, and little boy. His hair was soft, tickling Chris's chin and neck. Each breath was hot and reassuring on his throat.

Heat sparked in his eyes, but he ignored it, savoring the closeness of his little boy, and trying, and failing, to not think about another father who didn't have that comfort. And of a little boy who should be curled up in his Daddy's arms, who was god knew where; cold; hurt; and alone. He cuddled Vin closer, thanking God that he had not lost everything, guilt burning in his soul that he could even think such a thing. He tried hard not to be selfishly glad that he still had his boy. But even with Vin wrapped up tightly in them, his arms felt empty, and he buried his face into his boy's hair.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _3am, Austin (Central Time)_

He wanted to get drunk.

He'd thought through the options very carefully, and drunk seemed like the best he could manage on short notice. Shooting Kemp wouldn't bring JD back. Shooting himself would kind of defeat the object of not shooting Kemp. Destroying the hotel room would just get him a massive bill, sore hands and a dressing down from Travis. Plus, he wouldn't have anywhere to sleep.

Because, really, he was going to get so much sleep tonight.

He'd considered heading out, finding a nice girl and getting laid. Or for that matter, paying a not so nice girl and getting laid. Sex comforted him, gave him something to do that he didn't have to think about, that he could forget everything else in doing. He had always enjoyed it, been good at the dance of finding, wooing, pleasing a woman.

He snorted faintly and lay back on the bed, hands behind his head. It just didn't really interest him so much any more. And right now he felt faintly disgusted that he'd even thought of it. If JD never came home, and he'd been getting off with some faceless woman because he couldn't bear to be on his own, then he would never, ever forgive himself. It was a reflex, and he ignored it.

He grinned up at the ceiling, obscurely proud of himself. Since JD, he'd not played around half so much. For one thing, it was astonishing how much less money he had for wining and dining when a small boy's shoes had to be replaced every three months, or he caught the child's eyes on some toy or treat that he would never ask for. JD's astonishment at getting little gifts hurt as much as it delighted him. Chris ragged him about spoiling the kid, but really, he wasn't sure it was possible. Certainly not until JD started to expect nice things instead of nothing, or blows, or toys or treats taken away.

One day there would be no wariness lurking at the back of JD's eyes. No flinch when an adult moved abruptly near him. No nightmares that found him curled up in the furthest corner of his bed, his brother wrapped around him like a human blanket, trying to soak up JD's misery.

He sighed, sometimes, rarely, it was the other way around, sometimes JD was comforting Vin. It sometimes seemed to him that it was easy to see the damage done to Vin. His wary, poised stillness and silence. His reluctance to show or express emotions. His desperate clinging to Chris, only Chris, always Chris, his one rock in a world of shoals and treacherous currents. JD though was charming and out-going, friendly and eager to please. It had taken him a long time to realise that the last trait was a defense mechanism, as solid and as false as Vin's silence. He knew he was cute. And he used it.

It was a hell of a thing to long for an disobedient, sullen boy sometimes. He shook his head, grinning. Another ten years and he'd get his fill of both. The grin mutated into a wondering smile. Ten years -- more, with JD. Seeing him grow up. Seeing them both grow up. What would they be? Where would they go?

He sighed, comforting himself with the promise of years to come. He didn't need anything else. Just as well, he thought ruefully. It was strange how there were remarkably few women in his usual circles who found a small child an attractive appendage on a potential date. Leaving at midnight to get home so he could have breakfast with his son didn't really make anyone happy. And although he used to be able to charm effortlessly, somehow now his conversations all ended up being about the boys. Women vanished like dust in water, and to his own astonishment he simply shrugged them off. If they couldn't love a couple of small boys (and for that matter, put up with a rather awkward living arrangement with his best friend and boss), then they really weren't worth knowing.

He smiled painfully. He didn't regret a moment of it. Even if that was all they--No!

He wrenched himself away from the thought. There was too much to do. Too many promises still to keep. "And we have miles to go, before we sleep; miles to go before we sleep," he misquoted softly to himself, making it a promise to himself.

JD's face was going to light up at him when he got home. Chris would drive them back from the airport and the little one would be dancing with impatience and excitement just inside the door, held there by a firm grip on his collar, probably Gloria's. And he'd be let go, and charge down the steps and just about launch himself into the air at Buck, absolutely confident that his 'Da' would catch him.

And he would. He'd catch him, and he'd be warm and wriggly and loud, and all the things a JD was supposed to be. He'd carry him into the house and they'd talk, and laugh, and JD would go crazy, running in mad circles around and around the room until they were all dizzy and Chris threatened to find a set of reins to leash him, and Vin and JD would scream and run away, like they always did when Chris made threats that they knew he would never make good on. And then the pair of them would come back, maybe screaming like banshees, maybe sneaking up, Vin silent as a cat, JD huffing and shuffling behind him with a six year old's gracelessness, and they'd pounce and there would be a pile of Larabee-and-Wilmington-and-kids tickling, squirming, shrieking until they all sprawled out, gasping with laughter, exhausted, calling for a truce, and then breaking it and starting all over again.

He smiled. That's how it would be.

He wanted a drink.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

>  _Word had come in through a reliable snitch, and they'd made it to the industrial estate in no time at all. They were all there. He glanced at his team. The others nodded fiercely at him, Buck's eyes cold as Chris's own heart. On a signal they moved, and the air was filled with shouts and gunfire. The warehouse was oddly like the one they had first found the boys in, right down to the pile of concealing boxes at the back. Something pulled him there, and he pulled at the boxes, desperately digging for what seemed like forever, knowing what he was going to find before the last box was hurled out of the way._
> 
>  _JD was lying curled up on his side, small t-shirt clad back curved away from him in a tight ball. He shouted the kid's name. JD didn't move and preternatural calm spread through him. He wondered where Buck was, but it felt like he was the only person there, and he moved as though the noise and bullets didn't exist, leaning in slowly, scooping him up and holding him close._
> 
>  _JD's body was like ice, chilling Chris through his jacket and shirt. He pulled the boy closer to try to warm him, sure he was only sleeping, and the child's head had lolled. The cold spread from JD's body to his own, and he shivered convulsively. He looked into the small face for the first time. The hazel eyes were clouded and unmoving, blank. When he pressed his ear to the small chest there was nothing. No heartbeat. No breaths. Just cold that burned its way through him until he was frozen in place, screaming silently._

"JD!" Chris bolted upright and nearly fell from the sofa, Vin tumbling towards the floor before his reflexes kicked in and his hands flew out to catch him.

"No, oh God, no, please, not dead," he gasped out before realizing that Vin was staring at him blearily, growing panic on his face.

"Dead?" Vin whispered in horror. "JD's dead?"

"No!" Chris scooped the boy up into his arms. "No, God, no. I was just dreaming, just a bad dream, not real."

Vin shook in his arms and started crying, whether with shock, or grief, or sheer tiredness Chris didn't know. He hugged him close, rocking unconsciously, trying to comfort them both.

"JD's fine, I promise," he said recklessly, shaken by his nightmare. "He's just been taken by the bad guys. But I'm gonna find him. I promise you, Vin. Word of a Larabee."

"Dad? You ain't gonna lie to me, are you?"

Chris's heart caught. "I'm not going to make promises I can't keep, son," he said painfully. Vin's thin arms tightened around his chest and he bit his lip. "If it is within my power to bring him home, I will. Buck will. Nate will. Ez will. Josiah will. I promise."

He rocked him slowly, and gradually fell asleep, unaware that Vin remained awake, staring into the darkness as though sheer will could pierce the night to find his brother.

"Come home, JD," he whispered softly. "Come home."

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _6.30 am (Mountain Time)_

JD woke to the sound of yelling. His eyes snapped open and he scrambled away from the hands reaching through the metal bars.

"*Got* you, you little brat!" It was the man from yesterday, who hit him until he'd said what they'd wanted him to say to the camcorder. He stared, panicked, and then without a second thought he jumped.

"Get back here!"

The river below was fast running and cold and he gasped with shock, choking on water. Splashing around with his fathers and Vin had taught him enough to not panic, but to spit it out and wait until his head bobbed above water again. He paddled frantically trying to get to the bank but the current carried him along relentlessly, spinning and tossing him like so much flotsam gasping for breath.

JD swam for his life. He couldn't even see the bank and struggled to get his head above the water, but every time he managed to open his eyes water stung them so bad he had to close them again. "Buck!" He choked on the water that slammed into his mouth, but choked out the name again as he bobbed up to the surface, "Buck!" Something slammed hard into his leg and he wailed in pain, coughing helplessly as he swallowed yet more water.

"What the fuck?"

JD didn't hear the words, only the river roaring past his ears. He certainly knew nothing of the angler who dropped rod and line and dived into the river. The first he knew of any of this was a sharp tug at his shirt, and then an arm around him. He struggled desperately, terribly afraid that it was another one of the baddies as he was pulled out of the river.

"Calm down, calm--ow!--hey, kid, quit that!"

JD was lifted up out of the water and kicked out wildly, connecting with something soft. "Let me go! Let me go!" he screamed out, and bit at the nearest wrist.

"Stop that!" A sharp slap to his leg froze him, and he cowered.

"Hey, don't do that! He's just a baby!"

"He's a hellion with claws and fangs," the first voice said sharply, but then softened. "It's okay, I'm putting you down, come on, kid, calm it down."

JD blinked, scrubbing water out of his eyes. Two men crouched in front of him, one nursing his wrist, the other holding his hand out with a friendly smile, his eyes fixed on JD's. They were soaking wet, and were wearing jeans and the kind of shirts that Buck wore. They even had the waders, and his quick eyes picked out the abandoned fishing rods and the coolers. It looked like when Chris and Da took him and Vin fishing. The men didn't move as he looked around, waiting patiently. His feet and his leg hurt too much to stand, so he dropped down landing with a soggy thump, and tucked his feet up, peering at them with interest.

"Hey, kid, what's your name?"

JD looked up from his feet and shook his head. Don't give your name to strangers was one of the first rules. Even if they weren't bad guys.

"Are you hurt?" A hand lifted towards his face and he backed away, scooting on his behind.

"I'm not going to hurt you, little 'un. Come on, let me see?"

"Want my Da," JD said quietly, his voice trembling. The two men exchanged glances and the smiling one spoke again.

"I know, kid, I know. If you come with us we can find a policeman and he'll know where your Da is."

JD merely shifted his eyes from one to the other and then back to their fishing equipment, wondering where their little boys were. The nice one had hair like carrots and JD really, really wanted to see if it was real, but he kept himself still and small, like Vin taught him. They could still see him though.

The red haired man spoke again, his voice patient and gentle, holding one hand out without touching JD. "I'm Simon, and this is Jack, we live near here. We were fishing. Do you go fishing with your Da?" Jack looked incredulously at his friend, but Simon watched the small boy, who nodded hesitantly.

"Did you fall in?"

JD considered that for a moment, did it count if he jumped in? Would the grownups be cross if he told them he jumped in? He knew very well what Buck would have had to say about it. He shook his head, then hesitated, and nodded.

"Which was it, boy?" Jack asked curtly, and JD shied away from him.

"Jumpeded." Jack had eyes like Chris's, and JD blurted out the truth without really intending to. His eyes widened. He didn't have green eyes or blond hair, but he was kinda like Chris. He shuffled a little closer to Jack. He missed the mirth that filled Simon's eyes as his resolutely bachelor, kid-unfriendly friend acquired an admirer.

"Well, that wasn't so smart was it, kiddo?" Jack said harshly, and blinked as JD edged closer. "River's a bit big for little 'uns to play in."

JD scowled. "Had ta jump. Da woulda wanted me to jump. Vin woulda tole me ta jump." Jack's face looked just like Chris's when JD mouthed back, and JD couldn't repress a friendly smile. He knew all about Chris; the crosser he sounded the more you had to be kind to him because he was using his prickles to hide all the hurty bits. And Jack was just like Chris.

"Why's that, kiddo?" Simon asked gently, edging a little closer, and throwing a warning look at Jack, who rolled his eyes and plastered a smile on his face.

"Bad peoples. Hadda run away from bad peoples. An' sides, I was all dirty, an' now I'm all clean. See?" JD smiled at his hands, no longer icky with the black stuff from the sewer walls. The men exchanged a glance, wondering how much was small boy fantasy, and how much, if any, was genuine danger to the child.

"Can we go find my Da an' Chris an' Vin now?" He shuffled up close to Jack and leaned trustingly against his side. Jack froze, then reached for his one remaining dry piece of clothing -- the sweater he'd removed an hour earlier -- and tucked it round the small boy with a long suffering sigh and a scowl at Simon.

"Hey, are you hungry?" Simon suggested, hoping to rescue his friend from the improbable affections of a soaking wet, grubby small boy. "Because we've got some sandwiches and stuff in the cooler back there, if you wanted to come along and share some?"

JD's stomach growled right on cue; he nodded and when a hand was held out to him, considered it carefully before taking it and stumbling to his feet. Pain shot up his right leg and he gripped the man's hand fiercely, balancing on just one leg, lifting the other off the ground.

"You hurt?" Jack asked with a frown and JD shook his head silently. "Get the kit, Simon," he ordered Simon brusquely, who rose noiselessly to his feet and headed through the long grass back to the truck.

"You sure?" he hunkered down in front of boy, both hands steadying him as he wobbled on one foot, "Because I could probably manage to carry you if you were hurting. Not too far, of course 'cause you're pretty big, but just over to the food."

"Where's he going?" JD asked, following Simon with his eyes.

"He's going to find some things to stop you hurting." Jack told him. He regarded the filthy, soggy child, and mentally said goodbye to his clean clothes. He scooped the child up easily and straightened. "I've told you my name, kid, come on now, what's yours?"

JD shook his head again, more reluctantly this time, but still quite certain that he shouldn't tell them who he was.

"Well, I could try guessing, but it'd be quicker if you just said." JD shook his head and Jack bit back a sigh of annoyance, ignoring the muffled laughter of his friend. "Well, Jack's a pretty good name. How about Jack?" JD bit his lip, wide-eyed and shook his head again. Jack turned, striding smoothly back to the car after Simon, guessing names as he went, each guess more and more outrageous. "Timothy? Winston? Engelbert?"

"No!" JD was laughing now, his legs wrapped damply around the man's waist.

"Christopher?"

Jack caught a hesitation, and wondered if he'd hit on it by accident, but the child giggled out another "No!".

"Well, in that case," he lifted the child away from him and set him on the hood of the car, "Your name must be Rumpelstiltskin!" Simon threw him an incredulous look, and JD laughed out loud, and shook his head again.

"You're silly."

"Nope, I'm Jack." He ignored the muttered words from Simon and looked at the small boy. "Let's get you out of those wet things, okay? And maybe have a look at your bumps?"

JD regarded him thoughtfully, and Jack stood as unthreateningly as he could.

"Kay," he said simply and lifted his arms. Jack stripped the soaked shirt and jacket off in seconds, revealing dark bruises in the shapes of fingers and fists. Neither of the men said a word, their hands gentle and their eyes darkening with shock and anger. The jeans required both men, and it was clear in moments that JD's right leg was probably broken, it was sheer luck, judging by the bruises, swellings, cuts and scrapes over the tiny frame that nothing more serious was wrong.

"We need to get him to a hospital, Simon," Jack said seriously, handing his friend a towel to wrap around the boy. "And someone's gotta be frantic looking for him. He's a hell of a cute little guy." He scowled at another amused look from his friend. "And look, those jeans are good quality. Someone's been looking after him."

"Not recently!" Simon snapped, rubbing his own shirt over JD's hair to dry it. "Take a look at his feet!"

Jack tilted one small foot up and winced. It was covered in cuts, some deep, most of which looked puffy and raw, almost certainly infected. "Those bruises on his face--"

JD opened his mouth and poked at the gap in his teeth. "They made my tooth come out, an' I didn't get to leave it for the tooth fairy neither," he grouched at them.

"Tooth fairies are pretty smart, kid," Simon smiled down at him through the messy bangs. "I figure she'll know all about it and drop you off a dollar."

"A dollar?" JD was riveted. "Vin only got a quarter!"

"*You* can explain to his parents," Jack murmured in amusement.

"It's a special case for lost teeth in exceptional circumstances only," Simon tried to recover.

Jack walked away and hit an unsuspecting tree, hard. "How can people do this to a kid? If I get hold of those fuckers..." he swore.

"I know." Simon said shortly. "There's some on his legs and chest as well, more recent, they're just coming up. Calm down, Jack, you're scaring the kid."

Jack walked back and crouched. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm just angry with whoever hurt you." He ran a careful hand over the boy's cheek, avoiding the bruised and puffy lip, then stood and turned away. "Damn. What in God's name happened to you, you poor brat?" Jack asked, expecting no answer.

"The bad guys stoleded me to make Da not testify," JD told them calmly.

"Shit."

"My Da has to pay a dollar every time he says a bad word," JD said reprovingly.

"That can't be right!"

"But it would explain what he's doing out here, in this condition." Jack's voice was thoughtful as he wrapped JD into his own thick woolen pullover, rolling up the sleeves with deft hands.

"But, Jack, come on, 'bad guys'?"

"How old dya think he is?"

"Four, maybe five?"

"And how many four or five year olds do you think know the word 'testify'?"

"I'm *six*! 'n'I know lots of words! They put me up a grade again this year, an' I'm with Vin's class now." JD protested. They ignored him.

"I think we need to get the hell out of here. Hide him in the car, and head to the nearest police station," Jack said tersely.

"There wasn't anything on the news about a missing kid."

"Sometimes there isn't. Look, kid, this is important. What is your name?" Jack looked directly into the child's brown eyes.

"Mustn't tellya," JD said apologetically. "Da and Vin and Dad and Uncle Ezra and Uncle 'Siah and Uncle Nathan said not ta."

"That's a lot of uncles. And they'd be right usually, but it's really important you tell me your name. Or your Da's name?" Jack asked urgently. JD considered this carefully. No one had ever told him to not give his Da's name.

"Buck Wilmington."

"Is that your Daddy's name? You're sure?"

"Ahuh."

"Okay. We're going to go into town, and we're going to call your Da, and call the police, and we're going to get you fixed up at the hospital.

"I can call him."

"I'm sorry?" Simon asked blankly.

Jack grinned with relieved understanding, "Do you know your Da's phone number?"

JD rattled it off confidently, and Jack grinned as he scooped the kid up. "You're a bright little thing aren't you?" he praised, and JD beamed. "Give him your phone."

"Why mine?"

"Because mine's somewhere in the river," Jack told him dryly.

"Oh, okay." He passed over the small silver cell phone and Jack opened it and offered it to the boy.

"Maybe we should go first?" Simon said slowly, his eyes drifting up river.

"Why do you say that?" Jack turned, and his face hardened. "Got you. Pack up everything, now. Not a clue who we are. Abandon anything that won't identify us." He opened the car door and slid the child inside. "Kid, I'm going to put some coats and stuff on top of you, nothing heavy, just enough to make sure that no one can see you."

"Okay," the boy's voice was muffled but cheerful and Jack shook his head. Maybe if kids were like this one they wouldn't be so bad.

"Simon, come on," he called softly.

Simon ran back, fishing rods and personal belongings piled precariously in his arms. "I left the chairs and nets. No names."

"Get in. Let's go." Jack swung into the driver's side and started the engine even as Simon was still dumping stuff in the flatbed.

They pulled away, ignoring the shouting and waving from the raft careering down the river towards them.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _7am, Denver_

Chris had arrived an hour and a half early, desperately hoping there would be some news, anything. But there was no word from McKinnon. No sign of his team, and he rested his head in his palms. Vin hadn't wanted him to go, and now he was wondering why he had bothered. He knew he didn't have anything much he could do. Everything relied on someone, somewhere finding a clue, and --

"I've got a building in North Dakota," Standish slammed Larabee's office door open with uncharacteristic force.

Chris was on his feet reaching for the file. "Where, how?" he snapped.

"Subsidiary of a holding company owned by one of Kemp's sisters uses it. It's in Jamestown."

"Why didn't this come up before?"

"It did. It was decided it was legit. A warehouse for a stationery company."

"I need something I can use, goddammit!" he roared at Standish, standing towering over the shorter man, almost toe to toe. Josiah followed Ezra in, his eyes narrowed and gleaming with satisfaction that only deepened as he heard Ezra's findings. Nathan joined them in the small office, caught by the sense of anticipation burning through his veins.

Ezra held his ground, glaring straight back at Larabee, ignoring the other two. "It is." He slammed the file into Larabee's chest. "The tape-" his voice broke, and Sanchez' hand dropped on his shoulder.

"The tape clearly shows JD in what I believe to be a warehouse storage room. The shelves carry boxes of 'Enster computer paper'." Josiah's voice was grim.

Larabee's eyes narrowed. "And Enster...?"

"Is one of the low cost brands that her company ships." Ezra finished looking back at Josiah with dawning hope.

"Do we have probable?" Chris asked fiercely.

Standish shrugged, a mad glint to his eyes, "Who cares?" he asked recklessly, and the four men's faces split with feral grins.

"Get your coats, boys. We've got someplace else to be."

Ten minutes later, the room was empty. So there was no one to answer the phone when it rang, and rang. And rang.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _7.20 am, Mountain Time_

"Da's phone's switched off," JD said forlornly, and carefully turned the cell phone off.

Simon and Jack exchanged looks as the SUV bounced along the unmetalled track.

"Did you leave a message, kid?" Jack asked as he negotiated a steep turn at speed.

"No. Da's in court. They won't let him turn his phone on until lunchtime."

"Do you know where he is? Is there anyone else you could call?"

JD sniffed and rubbed his nose with a fold of Jack's sweater. "I tried, but everyone's phones are off, or they jus' ring an' ring, an' ring, an' ring."

"It's okay, kiddo," Simon comforted. "We'll get you to the police station, and they'll find your Da."

"Hospital," Jack said softly.

"Police." Simon contradicted. "Those guys had guns."

"That kid needs medical treatment. We can get the police to come to the hospital. We can't take the hospital to the police."

"He needs protection."

"He needs to have his leg and stomach seen to."

"Stomach?"

"Tight as a drum when I put that sweater of mine on him."

Simon shook his head, "Isn't it supposed to--"

"No," Jack shook his head grimly. "It is not."

A moment later, he slowed and indicated left. "Thank God," he murmured, and pulled out onto the main road down towards Jamestown.

"Buchanan's closer," Simon suggested, peering nervously over his shoulder.

"Jamestown's bigger." Jack said flatly. "And I want the kid to get treated at a decent sized hospital, not a nine to five clinic."

"Alright, alright," Simon agreed. "I'm just thinking we might want to crowd it some if we're going that way."

Jack nodded and pushed down the gas.

JD watched the countryside go past curiously. It didn't look anything like home. He frowned, and twisted round. "Where's the mountains?" he asked suddenly.

"Mountains? Further over to the west." Simon told him.

"Oh." JD thought for a moment. "Are we in Colorado?"

Jack's eyes flicked up to stare at the child in his mirror. "Nope. We ain't."

"We're a bit north of Colorado, is that where you're from?" Simon twisted round in his seat and peered at the boy.

"Four Corners, which is near Denver, which is in Colorado." He said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and they were idiots not to know it.

"Ah. Well, me and Jack, we're from North Dakota. That's where we are right now."

"Oh." JD's eyes were wide. "Is Denver a long way away?"

"About eight hundred miles." Jack said laconically. "Kid, there's traffic coming. Do me a favor and hide under those blankets."

"Okay." There was a pause and the soft sounds of fabric rubbing over fabric and then the kid spoke again. "Where are we going?"

"To find someone who can get you home." Jack said tersely. "Now be a good kid and stay quiet. I'm concentrating on the road."

Simon reached down and flicked the radio on. "See if there's any news," he said quietly, in response to Jack's irritated glare. A news bulletin was due any moment, and they listened impatiently.

"Nothing." Simon sighed and sat back in his seat. "He really was kidnapped then."

"He thought he was still in Colorado. I'd say that's a big fat, hairy yes." Jack pushed the speed up a little more as he spotted a car in the distance. His shoulders bunched, and Simon tensed.

"Trouble?" he asked softly.

"Maybe." He peered over his shoulder and saw no sign of the kid, just a messy pile of blankets, towels and coats. "Get my handgun out of the dash."

Simon silently reached in and pulled it out. He pulled the clip, checked it, and then loaded the gun again. He held it in his right hand, down beside the door where it would be out of sight to anyone glancing in.

"Now might be a good time to call the cops," Simon suggested after another twenty minutes.

"We're nearly there," Jack glanced in the mirror again. "They aren't gaining. The kid's still got your phone anyway."

"I forgot."

They crossed the city limits fifteen minutes later and both sighed with relief.

"He's been real quiet," Jack said worriedly. "Hey, kiddo, we're nearly there."

There was no reply and Simon spared a small smile for his friend. "He probably fell asleep. Best thing for him."

"I'm heading down to the Community Hospital." Jack glanced over his shoulder into the back of the car, "Come on, kid, you've made it this far."

He eased off the gas as the streets became more built up, but was still well above the speed limits when a siren howled behind them.

"Damnit, not now!" Jack muttered.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _9am, Austin (Central Time)_

"This session of the eleventh federal court, Austin, is now in session, Judge Merrick presiding."

Buck paced in the witness waiting room. They'd collected him at seven. He'd been trying to get hold of the guys, anyone, on his cell phone, security be damned, but there was no answer from anywhere. He left voice mail after voice mail, desperately hoping someone would call him back before he was called to the stand.

He had barely slept, and even when he had the dreams had left him shaking with cold. He was sure there was more, that Chris hadn't told him everything. Last night he hadn't wanted to know. After a night filled with waking nightmares, interspersed with restless dreams of dank dungeons, and iron bars; rushing water and faceless brutes, he was desperate for any consolation at all.

"Agent Bucklin Wilmington." The clerk of the court called his name and he stared despairingly at his phone before reluctantly turning it off and walking into the court room. For the rest of the day he had to forget.

He stood to be sworn in, and made the mistake of glancing around.

Kemp was seated between two men who had to be lawyers. As their eyes met, Kemp's lips curved into a small malicious smile.

Buck's first instinct was to vault the stand and throttle the man. He eyed the distance, noting the positions of the court bailiffs. He could make it. He could break Kemp's neck before anyone could stop him. Something of this must have shown in his expression and Kemp hunched back into his chair as Buck returned his smile with one infinitely more dangerous.

"Agent Wilmington?"

Buck turned to the prosecution attorney and smiled politely. He would trust Chris to find JD. And he promised himself, so privately that he barely let himself even think it, if they didn't find him, he would give himself the satisfaction of killing the man responsible with his own bare hands.

He had friends who would help him bury the body.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _8.00 am, Denver_

Sarah McKinnon swore and slammed the phone down. "I can't get hold of Larabee or any of those cowboys," she said with pursed lips. "I imagine they've gone off on some wild goose chase."

"Where could they go, though?" Ferretti asked

McKinnon scowled. "Try the airports. See if any private flights left." She sighed. "I can't put out an APB. I saw the vehicles in the parking garage downstairs, and they haven't actually done anything wrong."

"That we know of," Ravinder Singh pointed out. "I've already got a list of the private flights out of the airports around Denver. I'll get the airport authorities to update them."

"Thanks, Ravi. It's not essential, though I'd prefer to know where that crazy bastard is. The focus is finding John." Sarah said with a grimace.

"Been nearly twenty four hours, and only that tape. No follow-up."

"I'd guess they've either tried to make direct contact with Wilmington, or they are waiting to see what happens with his testimony today." Ferretti observed. "The timeline doesn't make sense though. They took the kid about half past nine in the morning. According to the tape it was recorded approximately two-thirty in the afternoon. And it was delivered to the ATF building by four, by hand. Where did they take the kid?"

"Somewhere no more than an hour away," Ravi sat back, thinking out loud. "Between fifteen minutes and an hour to tape off the film to a regular vhs, and then call it no more than an hour to get it here. How far out does that take us?"

"Mid afternoon in Denver? Not very far." Sarah eyed the large scale map of the city and surrounding counties. "That makes doesn't sense though. The kidnapping happens at just before nine thirty, right?" The others nodded. "Okay, the kidnappers then wait five hours before they video the child at two-thirty, but deliver the tape within an hour and a half. And they don't make any other communication than that on the tape. Is it just me, or does that seem weird? Like they had something else going on before they videoed the kid."

"Maybe that's deliberate," Ferretti suggested. "Just trying to scare us. The longer the silence, the worse everyone's fears, the more likely we are to comply with their demands."

"Maybe. I can't help thinking Ravi's right and the gap is significant." McKinnon drummed her fingers on the desk. "Maybe they took JD further away? Maybe the plane idea is viable?"

"We've had a ports and airports notice out since ten yesterday. It shouldn't be possible," Ferretti disagreed.

"But it could," Ravi backed McKinnon's suggestion. "I compiled a list of possible flights, I've got a couple of private ones that fit the time frame. And if they moved him in a large suitcase or trunk, it's possible no one would realise that he was there."

Sarah nodded. "I wish Larabee had let me listen in on his call to Wilmington. I really wanted to get a feel for how Wilmington would react to a threat like that. Is he going to withdraw his testimony?"

"I shouldn't think so for a moment." A new voice broke in and they all looked around sharply, wondering how long he'd been listening.

"Judge Travis!" McKinnon stood hastily and held out her hand. "Thank you for coming by, we've been trying to get hold of Team Seven, but--"

"I haven't been able to get hold of them either. However, to answer your first question, Agent Wilmington took the stand in Austin about two hours ago, and has completed his testimony against Kemp on the pedophile and slave trading charges. The prosecution sat down half an hour ago, and the defense is making very little head way against his testimony."

"How do you--" Ferretti stopped himself at an irritated look from McKinnon. "Sorry sir."

She shook her head. "I guess that answers that then. Here's hoping the kidnappers haven't heard yet."

"What do you have?"

McKinnon sighed and rubbed a hand over tired eyes. "Not a huge amount more than we had yesterday. We've narrowed the area that they are keeping John down to a one hour radius to the ATF building. *If* the time stamp on their camcorder wasn't tampered with in some way of course."

"How was it delivered?"

"Courier company hand delivery. False details on the company that placed the courier request. We couldn't backtrack it further, and it was dropped off at the courier office."

"It gives us a window of no more than an hour, but that barely gets us out of Denver."

"It doesn't make any sense," Ravi repeated, and shrugged at Sarah's scowl, "Well, it doesn't. Road blocks went up in minutes. Why would they stay that close?"

"Unless--" Ferretti paused. "I'd have to check with computer services, they've got the tape right now, but I can call them."

"What? Unless what?"

Craig dialed the a/v labs. "Unless," he paused again. "Hi, it's Agent Craig Ferretti with the Dunne kidnapping case. Yeah, the tape." He paused for a while and a grin spread slowly over his face. "That was exactly what I needed to know. Are you sure?" A longer pause. "No, no, I see. Okay. And how long would that take?"

He sighed and scrubbed at his face. "Damn. No, no, thanks, it's really helpful." He gave a half hearted chuckle at something the person on the other end of the line said and added, "Okay, not so much useful as blown our first theory out of the water, but that's good, it's made our second string look pretty solid. Yeah, thanks. Could you send up the results once you've got them? Thanks. Bye." He hung up and looked up at McKinnon.

"Ravi was right. The timeline's off. And it could be off by that full four hours they've got in the morning."

"How?" snapped Travis.

Ferretti looked at him. "The video has distinct signs of pixilation in close-up."

"And that means--"

"That means it was probably converted to digital format at some point before it got put on the tape. That means it could be emailed or downloaded, then rendered to tape locally. Whoever did it probably only needed about half an hour from downloading the four minute clip to producing a finished tape and handing it over. Which splits the possible locale wide open."

"Fuck! Sorry, sir," McKinnon apologized to the judge. "We'd been assuming they were tied by physical distance. Four hours-- they could be anywhere."

Singh nodded. "I still think we need to check out that flight from Denver International."

"I don't think it's going to help, Ravi. They pre-booked the flight plan two days in advance. Are kidnappers going to be that careless?"

Ravi sighed. "I know. I've just got a feeling..."

"What feeling, son," Travis eyed him shrewdly.

Ravi turned to him gratefully.

"Lisa Hennessy lives in Aspen, and normally flies in and out of Colorado Springs. Her Cessna Citation flew out of Denver International yesterday morning at eleven am, with three passengers."

"And Lisa Hennessy is?" Travis asked intently.

"Richard Kemp's sister, but sir, I've got to protest, tarring Mrs. Hennessy with kidnapping because she chooses to take her regular flight to her company headquarters from here in Denver instead of Colorado Springs doesn't make sense." Sarah McKinnon's face was growing red, but she stuck to her guns. "I think insisting that she has something to do with it clouds the issue."

"Does it fit the timelines?"

Sarah frowned, "Nine thirty: kidnapping. Eleven, flight out of Denver."

Ravi carried on at her expectant look, "Three hour flight to," he checked his notes, "Jamestown, North Dakota, landing a little before two pm."

"They then tape JD at a warehouse, possibly this HQ you mentioned? At two thirty or thereabouts." Travis asked, his face intent.

"The tape is time-stamped fourteen twenty three through fourteen twenty seven." Ferretti clarified.

Ravi added, "Her company HQ is Hennessy Paper Mills, based about twenty miles north of Jamestown North Dakota. They've diversified into other stationery type products, but they started as a paper mill. She married the heir, Jacob Hennessy twenty five years ago, and according to the public records, mostly runs it herself since he died in 1997."

"Is she really likely to be kidnapping small boys?" McKinnon said wearily. "I know the time scale fits, but it doesn't make sense."

"Maybe the family's tight," Ravi said.

"Or maybe there's some other connection between Hennessy and Kemp than just sisterly affection," Travis suggested dryly.

"It's a long jump, " McKinnon protested. "And it's going to look like we're trying to carry out some kind of vendetta for Chris Larabee if we keep gunning for Kemp's family."

"The evidence points that way, Agent McKinnon," Ravi said formally. "You're flying in the face of the only clues we have to avoid getting tarred with Larabee's brush."

Sarah scowled. "I don't want us making mistakes that are going to cost that child his life. North Dakota is a long way to go if we're wrong and he's right here."

"You're federal agents, Ms. McKinnon, Mr. Singh. Mr. Ferretti. That means you are here for exactly these times. I suggest you stop worrying about what it looks like, and start acting on the evidence before you," Travis said, not unkindly.

Ravi reddened, and McKinnon threw him an unpleasant look.

"Yes sir," she said finally. "Ravi, what have you got on the Hennessy company?"

Singh pulled a folder out of the pile in front of him. "Shall I notify the Jamestown police department?"

McKinnon nodded. "Go on. And the local FBI office. It's probably Bismarck or Fargo if they don't have one there. I'll work my way through this stuff. Ferretti, get that report from the lab."

Travis frowned faintly, as the trio buried themselves in activity, and wondered what exactly his team were up to.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _8.00 am North Dakota_

Jack frowned, mentally calculating the distance to the hospital and the hassle if he didn't stop. He shrugged and slowed to a complete stop. Even if the other car caught up, he'd have a cop standing right there. "Put the gun away, Simon. Don't want any mistakes."

The patrol officer bent down and smiled at them. "Could you step out of the car please, sirs?"

Jack wound his window down and read off the woman's name. "Officer Caverty, my friend and I were fishing and found a small boy in the river. We are trying to get him to the hospital as quickly as possible."

Caverty looked into the car skeptically, "I'm sorry, sir, I don't see any--"

"He's under the blankets, we were trying to keep him hidden," Simon blurted out before Jack could stop him. Jack rolled his eyes.

"Way to make the nice police officer believe us, Wedden," he muttered. He drew a deep breath. "The kid had a pretty extraordinary story, and he wasn't in good shape, which kind of backed the whole thing up, but we think there are some people following us, so we sure would appreciate an escort to the hospital. If you want to take us in or something after that, then, well, that's your prerogative, but--" he reached back and tugged on the blankets. The boy's shoulder appeared first, and then a scruffy black head.

"Well, there's a kid in there," the police woman finally said doubtfully, "but he really ought to be properly restrained."

"That wasn't exactly our first priority." Jack took another calming breath. "Can we get moving? He needs medical attention as soon as possible."

Caverty frowned, and then nodded. "If you'll follow me, we'll get you there asap."

She trotted back to her car and after a brief conversation with her partner, the vehicle pulled out around them and Jack followed.

Five minutes later they were at the hospital's emergency entrance. Jack parked the car, and quickly opened the rear door and lifted the boy, carefully keeping a blanket snugly around him.

"Kiddo? We're at the hospital. We're gonna get that leg of yours fixed, and sort out the rest of it, okay?" He shook him very lightly as he jogged towards the entrance. The boy's face was flushed and he felt a tremor of panic. "Come on, wake up, son. Don't do this," the doors swung open automatically in front of him and he was almost running, trailed by two police officers and Simon as he arrived at the counter.

"Boy's unconscious, I think he's got a broken leg, something's wrong with his belly, and he's got what look like infected cuts on his feet." He gabbled out to the receptionist who stood and peered into the blanket, one hand going to her mouth as she saw the boy's bruised face. Indignant rage filled her face, and he swiftly added, "I and my friend pulled him out of the river about three quarters of an hour ago."

"This way," she turned on her heel and swiped an electronic key to open the door into the treatment area. "Where did you find him?"

"The James River, north of here about forty miles." Jack hurried along after her, watching the boy carefully, trying to ensure he didn't jar him too much.

"In here, I'll get a doctor. If you could just lay him down there and he'll be with you in a moment."

Jack gently laid the boy on the gurney, and arranged the blanket over him. He brushed the soft bangs with his hand and shook his head. "I can't believe anyone would hurt a little kid like this."

"Sir, can you tell me what happened?" Officer Caverty was standing next to him, watching as he petted the child's hair.

"Now that's a question and a half, officer. Simon, Simon Wedden and I, I'm Jack Gilles, we went up fishing on the river. We got there a little before dawn and--"

"Are you the child's father?" A white coated man hurried into the cubicle and interrupted his recitation.

"No, I found him while we were fishing. Pulled him out of the river," he repeated patiently.

"Was he conscious? Did he inhale any water? Did you have to resuscitate at all?"

"Yes, probably, no. He was trying to swim when I pulled him out. He was wide awake and completely aware until about, I don't know, half an hour ago?" He glanced at Simon who nodded.

"Yeah. I think the last we heard of him was after he couldn't get through to his 'Da'."

"Okay," the doctor carefully unwrapped the blanket from the child's slight form and hissed. "Well, I can tell you right now, that leg is broken." He touched the soft sweater and added, "I'll just need to call a nurse." He stuck his head out of the room and called a name. A moment or two later a woman hurried in.

"This is our senior nurse Elizabeth Smith. Oh, I'm Doctor Lundquist," he added belatedly.

"Simon Wedden, Jack Gilles, Officer Caverty, I'm afraid I don't know your partner's name," Jack smiled as he gave everyone's names.

"Officer Brown."

"And we don't know the boy's name," he smiled faintly, "he was quite adamant that he was not allowed to give his name out to strangers." The adults smiled.

"Liz, can you lift him while I get the sweater off him? Gently, I don't know what other injuries he's got under there."

"It's not pretty," Jack said quietly. "We stripped him off to dry him, and --" he hissed through his teeth. "People who can do that to a littl'un."

"Sir, can you come with me while the doctor looks him over?" Caverty suggested politely but firmly.

Jack looked worriedly at the child. "What if he wakes up with more strangers around? Look, if he calls for me, come and get me?"

"Sure," the nurse smiled at him.

"Sir?" Caverty insisted.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Don't be so all fired impatient," he muttered, and came to a standstill just outside the room.

"We can do this just here, if you want?" She gestured to chairs along the wall.

Jack nodded. "Thanks."

"No problem. My partner's going to take Mr. Wedden down the corridor a little ways."

"Make sure our stories tally?" he nodded. "Fair enough."

"I'm going to record this sir, make sure there aren't any misunderstandings later. Please state your name for the record, and then describe the incident in your own words. Jane Caverty, police officer, Jamestown PD present."

"Not a problem. Okay. Um. I'm Jack Gilles, I live in Jamestown, I'm a lawyer, used to be in the army and moved back here after my tour was up ten years ago. Me and my friend Simon, Simon Wedden, we usually go up to the river fishing this time of year. Leave real early, and spend the day there. That's why we were up there today, we were fishing, when I saw something in the river. It was probably about six, maybe six thirty. I think Simon realised it was a kid before I did, but we both jumped in. I got a hand in his collar and pulled him out.

"He'd been beaten up pretty badly, whether that was by one of the 'bad guys' he told us about or when he came down the river, I don't know. He was wide awake when we pulled him out, full of beans. Tried to bite me to get away. Kid's got guts. Told us off when we said he shouldn't have been in the river, said that every man jack of his acquaintance would have told him ta jump in," his voice lightened and the accent slid in unconscious imitation of the child's voice, and Caverty smiled involuntarily. "Would *not* tell us his name. Um, oh, he said his father's name was Buck Wilmington, and that he, the boy, had been kidnapped to stop his father from testifying."

Caverty looked up from her notepad.

"Yeah. That was kind of what we thought." He tipped his head back thoughtfully. "What else. He said he's got an Uncle Ezra, and an Uncle Joseph. There was a Vin and a Chris in there, but I don't think they were uncles. Brothers maybe? Calls Wilmington Da. Says he's six, though he looked about four, tops. Says he's just gone up a grade and he's now in the same class as 'Vin'. Um. He knew his father's phone number and a couple of others. Tried ringing them on Simon's cell phone but got no replies. They should be in the recent calls on his phone."

"So can you tell me why you were speeding?"

"You haven't seen the handprints and boot marks on that kid, or you wouldn't be asking," he said grimly. "We saw some people coming down the river in a boat. They appeared agitated and to be brandishing what might be guns. We left in a hurry. I later saw a car appear to be following us. Possibly I was being paranoid, but the kid had stopped talking, and believe me that's more unlikely than it sounds, and I was worried about him, and I wasn't sure if the car was going to turn out to be those clowns with the guns from the river."

"That's fine, Mr. Gilles," she closed her notepad and switched off the tape recorder. "I'm going to tell you now, the kid's name is almost certainly John Daniel Dunne, known as JD. He went missing yesterday morning from his minder's home in Colorado."

"That makes sense, yeah, he asked where the mountains were; didn't seem to know he'd left Colorado. Said he lived in Four Corners, near Denver," Jack blurted.

Caverty nodded. "That makes it all the more likely. We had a notice through from the FBI yesterday. Didn't pay a lot of attention -- we see a hell of a lot of this kind of thing, and you start to get used to it, kinda," she shrugged sadly, and then brightened. "Anyway, when you said you had a boy in the car, and I saw the black hair it rang a bell. I'm going to have to confirm this, but I'm hoping we're going to be able to match him with the notice yesterday."

Jack felt an unfamiliar grin spread across his face, "Well," he said, amazed. "Well, if that works out, that's." He shook his head in pleased disbelief, "That's good."

"Yes, sir," Caverty was beaming back at him, "yes, that really is. Thank you." And she held out her hand for him to shake.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _8.45 am, Jamestown, ND_

Jane Caverty left Gilles, and waited patiently, her back turned discreetly a few meters from where Adrian Brown was finishing up with the other guy. Wedden, or something like that, she seemed to remember.

"Officer?" she turned at the voice down the corridor, and smiled at the nurse who approached, looking upset.

"Officer, could you come please?"

"Why?"

The nurse headed back to the cubicle where the boy was being examined. "I don't want to say. You need to see this, though."

Jane walked through the doorway and stopped dead. The little boy was lying on his back, eyes closed. His face was swollen on one side, darkening with bluish bruises. His chest had more bruises, his shoulders and wrists marked in finger-sized stripes. His legs were covered in them, the right one red and severely swollen.

"Dear Lord," she whispered. "I'll get the camera."

The doctor looked up and nodded. "His back is as bad, we saw when we took that top off of him, but I won't risk moving him again until we're ready to x-ray him."

Caverty nodded, and left at a run. The camera was in the evidence kit in the back of the car, and she was back in under two minutes. "I'd like to record this as well, if I may?" she pulled out her little tape recorder and slipped a new tape into the machine.

The doctor hesitated as he pulled on gloves. "Okay, he said finally. "My insurance people will probably have my head for it, but yeah. Where's the portable x-ray unit?" He turned back to the nurse.

"On its way, Doctor Lundquist," the nurse replied.

"Thanks, Liz," he said absently. "Okay. Palpation of the abdomen indicates some internal swelling. We're going to have to operate for that before we can see what's happened. The lower right tibia appears to be fractured, a complete break judging by the distention of the shin. No breakages in the upper limbs. Severe bruising in the chest area suggests possible damage to the rib cage," he paused and lightly pressed his stethoscope to the child's chest, moving it about. "No real respiratory distress, but some roughness, indicating water in the lungs. Need to watch for pneumonia and bacterial infection. Start him on general antibiotics. Do we have any ID on him at all?"

Caverty shook her head. "Not definite. My partner's going to run the description with central once we've got the statements."

"Okay, we're going to give him minimum dosage, and watch for reactions. Hopefully he'll be fine and we can increase the dose." He moved down the lower end of the bed and gently turned the little feet up. "We need to clean these cuts. Looks like he walked over glass and then rubbed them in dirt. Better add a tetanus shot. Some of them are already showing signs of septicemia, I hope he's not allergic to broad spectrum antibiotics, because he needs them as soon as possible. Liz, numb his feet. I don't want him waking up halfway through."

Liz Smith nodded and began preparing a hypodermic, then gently worked her way around the small soles, numbing them. The child didn't so much as twitch, and Lundquist frowned.

"There's no overt head trauma, I'm hoping that what we've got is in relation to either the general trauma or the infection." He gently pressed the swollen stomach and sighed as the boy moaned. "Damn. Liz, he's going up to surgery as soon as we've got a free theater."

"I'll call Harry and let him know to call us." She squinted at the small foot she was holding and pulled out another little bit of glass.

"How's the feet going?" He peered over her shoulder as she gently held the cut open with plastic tweezers and sluiced first sterile water and then a mild antiseptic through it.

"Looks like the cuts healed up a little before he walked through all the muck, but there's fragments of glass in there." She bit her lip and concentrated on easing an almost invisible sliver out. She dropped it into the dish containing half a dozen other similarly small bits, flakes and tiny splinters, few more than a few millimeters long. "Nothing huge in there, as far as I can see. Nasty looking cuts, but none of them are too deep."

"Okay. I'll get Jade to join us in theater to deal with the leg. I'll sort out the internal bleeding. I'll call Harry myself, you get as much of that finished as you can."

"Okay, thanks, Mats."

The doctor left, and Caverty turned off her tape recorder. "Can I get some pictures?"

"Sure." Liz agreed. "I hope you find whoever did this to him." She paused in her work and smiled at the small bruised face, with its long lashes, sweetly rounded features and untidy hair. "Any idea who he is?"

"Waiting for confirmation," Jane told her. "Can you lift his foot up? And the other one? Thanks."

"You can get his back when Mats comes back. We're going to have to turn him over just to get a look at him anyway."

"Fine."

The two women sat in silence, Caverty watching as Smith moved on to the second foot with a new set of implements and gloves.

"We've got a room," Lundquist's voice was a shock to both of them, but the nurse's hands kept utterly steady. "We'll just let the police get the rest of the pictures, and we'll take him straight up. I've got Elza Kohen from pediatrics to come in, we'll take him there afterwards."

"I'm done," she carefully wiped over the area and neatly wrapped soft bandages over each of the small feet. "That should keep him till we get a chance to x-ray his feet."

Lundquist nodded. "I'll add that to the list," he said. "Okay, let's turn him on three. One, two--" He and the nurse gently eased him over onto his stomach.

"Looks mostly like more bruising. Interesting," the doctor added, peering closer.

"Yeah?"

"Looks more like impact than punches here. Possibly when he was in the river."

Caverty took more pictures, wondering how Lundquist could possibly tell.

"If you'll excuse us?" The nurse hastily draped a hospital issue blanket over the little boy leaving the one he'd come in with in a heap on the floor. Caverty picked it up absently, and slowly stepped away from the bed as the orderly entered and unlocked the wheels of the bed.

Caverty stood out of the way against the wall, watching as the orderly pulled the bed out of the room. The child barely took up a half of the bed, and she followed them up the corridor as far as the elevator, where the nurse paused, and told her, "I'm sorry, you'll have to wait up on two, in surgical waiting?"

"Okay," she replied, but the heavy metal doors had already closed.

"Hey." Brown's voice was quiet.

"Hey," she said softly, hugging the blanket to her.

"Don't let it get to you."

"I know." She turned to her partner, five years senior and he read her face instantly.

"He'll be fine."

"He looks like my sister's little boy."

Brown slung an arm around her shoulder and squeezed gently. "The kids are always hard. He's alive. Hang on to that. And if you've got some pictures it looks like we're going to be able to make a family in Denver very, very happy."

She smiled, and nodded. "Let's go do that, then," she glanced at the blanket. "Are those guys still here?"

"Gilles is. Wedden left about ten minutes ago."

"I'd better give this back to him," she hefted the blanket and sighed.

"Yeah. And if we take him down to the station he can sign his statement, maybe get some people up to have a look at where the boy went into the water."

"Sounds like a plan," she agreed, and they headed out.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _9.30, Jamestown Airport, ND_

"Give me or Jenny a call, let us know when the kid's home!"

Chris inclined his head in agreement to the pilot, and ducked out of the USAF helicopter and ran, followed seconds later by the rest of his team.

He paused, watching with eyes narrowed against the sun as the helicopter lifted off again, then turned. He stalked away to the side of the field heading into the small airport. He didn't bother looking back. He knew the team was at his heels.

"Standish. Find us transport. Josiah, local maps. Nate, make contact with the local hospital and cops, I'm calling the judge. We meet outside, half an hour." The team scattered.

He dialed. "Judge? It's Larabee." He rolled his eyes as the judge expostulated about his abrupt departure. "We've got a lead on JD. No time to waste. I called in a couple of favors, got a flight up here."

He headed out towards the exit, flashing his ATF badge as various people tried to get in his way. Otherwise he ignored them

He shrugged. "Heard anything from Buck?" His lips thinned, "Well, if there's no news at least we know he hasn't tried to kill Kemp in court. Yet." He lifted the phone away from his ear and waited for the shouting to stop.

"We're in North Dakota, Jamestown. Called in a couple of favors to get us up to Minot, and hitched a lift the rest of the way with USAF. Yes, Jamestown. Why?"

"Well, bully for the FBI. Yes, we knew about it, but that wasn't the reason. No. No. Josiah caught a name on one of the packages on the tape. Yes sir, that tape. The name matches to a brand owned by one of Kemp's sisters. Hennessy. Yes. Really? I guess that's another nail then. Yes. Okay, I'll keep you informed."

He hung up and glanced at Nathan who scowled. "I'm on hold. The locals don't seem to like the words 'federal' or 'officer'. ATF didn't much help, but at least she defrosted some after I promised we weren't FBI." He stopped, "Yes ma'am, I'll hold. Hello? Hello!" He grimaced. "Damn. Lost the call."

"Forget it. Where's Ezra gotten himself?"

"Avis desk." Nathan pointed.

"He better make it fast, or I'll shred that fancy suit he's wearing. With him in it."

Nathan grinned. "Judge have any word on Buck?"

"Nothing. I'll be outside." Chris turned on his heel and walked briskly outside.

Nathan stared after him and began the business of redialing through.

Ten minutes later the team gathered back together, Ezra pulling up in a big sedan a minute or so after everyone else.

"You're early," Larabee said coldly, and Ezra nearly apologized before catching the faint amusement in his boss's eyes.

"Very droll, Mr. Larabee."

"Josiah, you're in the front, navigating. I'm driving."

Ezra blinked, but slid out of the driver's seat and into the back of the car without argument. "I suppose it would do no good to observe that we are in fact only insured for *me* to drive this monstrosity?"

"None at all. Everyone in? Good." Larabee pulled out with a shriek of burned rubber, leaving irate drivers in his wake blaring angrily. "Where are we going?"

Josiah traced a thoughtful finger down the map. "We need the US-52. Should be able to pick it up if we head into Jamestown. Don't go North on Highway 20, we'll be on the wrong side of the river. I think."

Chris's jaw tightened until Nathan started to wonder when something would break.

"You think?"

"I'm pretty sure. You know, we could do with someone who actually knows maps. Or knows the area."

"No. We're heading up to the paper mill, and we're going to find the boy. Travis says the FBI identified Lisa Hennessy as one of the flights out of Denver yesterday morning. For all we know, the locals are in on it."

Nathan sighed. "Well, I didn't get anything out of the hospital, and the police don't seem to know how to operate their switchboard. At any rate, I never did get through to anyone who had the faintest idea of what I was talking about."

"The FBI did actually issue a kidnapping bulletin, didn't they?" Ezra asked mildly. "Someone did actually check this?"

There was silence in the car.

"Perhaps if someone would like to drop me off near a police station, I will investigate the question personally," Ezra sighed.

"No. We need all of us." Larabee's fiat was final, and they subsided into silence.

"What's the plan once we get to the Hennessy place?" Silent except for Ezra.

"Take it down to bedrock," Larabee muttered darkly, and Josiah grinned.

"Now that's a plan I can stand behind, brother."

"Ez, you go in the front with Nathan. Make nice. Josiah and I will explore around the building."

"And then?"

"And then we search for JD." Chris smiled unpleasantly. "If they're lucky, we find him quickly."

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _9.30 am, Jamestown, ND_

"*Yes*!" Caverty whooped, and heads snapped up all around the office. "People, we got that kidnapped kid from Denver sitting in the Community Hospital!" Grins spread round the room instantly. Most of the officers had seen the pictures up on the wall of the child's battered form, and they'd all been depressed by it. Now though, it seemed like the kid might get a happy ending.

"I'll call the local FBI, and notify them," her partner said. "You'd better get back to the hospital. If the kid was kidnapped then there's a chance they're going to come back for him."

"I'll go back now."

Brown stopped her with a hand on her wrist. "Slow down, sweetheart. Don't you want to try to get the family?"

"Won't the feds do that?" she asked, puzzled.

"Addendum on the sheet. Father's ATF. Got a number for him and his partner. Wilmington and Larabee."

A huge smile grew and she took the paper. "I'll be a couple of minutes."

Her face dropped a moment later, and then she squared her shoulders. "Mr. Wilmington, this is Officer Jane Caverty with Jamestown PD, on 555-127693. Could you call us immediately and ask to speak to myself or Officer Adrian Brown. We have good news of your son." She hung up with a shrug.

"Voicemail?"

"Yup."

"I'll see you at the hospital?"

"Yup."

She gathered her stuff and headed back out.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _9.30 am Four Corners, CO._

Vin leaned both elbows on the windowsill and stared outside. It was a perfect day for running around and playing. It was sunny, and a little bit of a breeze flooded in through the open window, cooling the day enough that even for July it didn't feel too hot. He didn't move from his spot inside the living room.

JD had been sitting right there. Underneath one of the apple trees. He'd had some of the little toy cars, and he'd been racing them back and forth, back and forth. Vin closed his eyes. He'd gotten bored, and had gone inside to get a drink. Mrs. Potter had been taking cookies out of the oven, so he'd waited till he could take one.

When he had come back, JD was gone.

He'd stared for what felt like hours, one hand full of his glass of milk, the other clutching a plate with a cookie for him and one for JD. The toy cars were there scattered wildly as though JD had thrown them. JD's shoes were missing from where he had tugged them off earlier. He could have been anywhere. Inside. The other side of the apple tree, but every instinct he had was screaming 'danger!' at him. JD wasn't anywhere he was supposed to be.

He'd heard something, and turned, it felt like moving through molasses, his feet sticky with reluctance to move even though he whipped around fast enough to attract Mrs. Potter's attention. A red car, small, like a thousand others on the road was pulling away, JD in the back, slumped motionlessly over someone's shoulder. He'd dropped the plate and glass letting them shatter and spill, and had sprinted to the gate. Mrs. Potter had stopped him, running after him, asking him what was wrong, and he'd fought against her, screaming that JD was gone, they'd taken JD, and she hadn't heard, wouldn't listen, tried to tell him JD was okay.

He choked back a sob. They'd been too late anyway. Too slow, too late.

And all he could see was JD, lying as still as his mother had in that awful stinking car. Maybe JD was dreaming of-- His face crumpled.

Warm arms gathered him up and he burrowed into Mrs. Potter's embrace.

"Shhh. Shhh. They'll find him, he'll be fine," she whispered, over and over.

Vin didn't bother listening. Adults wouldn't tell him the truth, he knew that. Could hear it in the fear in Mrs. Potter's voice even as she tried to comfort him. Chris wouldn't lie to him, and Chris had only promised to bring JD back. He'd never promised that he would be alive.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _9.30 am Jamestown Community Hospital_

Lundquist smiled broadly. "Well, that went much better than I feared," he said, pulling his gown and gloves off. "Any word on whether they've managed to track the boy's family yet?"

"I'll ask," Liz Smith said, and quickly walked up to the waiting area reception. "Anything on our baby John Doe?"

Kate Jefferson smiled broadly up at her and handed over a file. "The police identified him about half an hour ago. He's John Daniel Dunne, six years old. Denver emailed his medical records through about ten minutes ago. No allergies."

Lundquist sighed with relief. "I'll order the dosage up then. Beat those infected cuts before they go anywhere." He hurried off towards the recovery area, leaving Liz to look over the rest of the kid's notes. She reached for them but Kate hung on to them, reading out the bits that struck her as interesting.

"His notes say the family call him 'JD'. They're still trying to get hold of his father or his guardian, they're ATF agents. Buck Wilmington, he's the kid's dad, and Chris Larabee, he's the kid's guardian. All got the same address." Kate's eyebrows flickered, and Liz shrugged.

"Could be half-brothers or something. I need to get those to the doctor, Kate."

"Could be." Kate said with some disappointment that Liz wasn't prepared to speculate on the mystery kid's odd little family. "Just a minute."

"While you're thinking about it, I'll take this up to the ward, make sure they get it," Liz plucked the document from Kate's hand and Kate watched, lips pursed as she disappeared back into the recovery area.

Liz picked up JD's right hand, the one without any IV in it, and held it gently, perched by the side of the bed. "Hey, JD, I'm Liz. Howya doing there?"

He was still deep under the anesthetic, his face half obscured by the cold pack on his left cheek, and the blanket covering up the incision on his stomach and one little leg. The other stuck out, neatly covered in bright blue cast from toes to knee. "I'm going to sit with you for a while till we get you up to the children's ward. You'll like it there. They've painted all sorts of things on the walls. They got some of the students from the college to do it over the summer.

"We're trying to get hold of your Daddy right now. And your Uncle Chris. They're going to be so glad to see you. Were you scared? I bet you weren't, but it's okay now, you're safe. We'll take good care of you till your Daddy gets here, I promise."

"Liz, we're going to move him in about fifteen minutes, okay?" The supervisor of the surgical unit told her as he walked past, and paused.

"Thanks, Harry."

"He's the kidnap victim, right?" he asked curiously. "Any more on him?"

"Just a name. JD Dunne." She looked back down at the child's sleeping face. "He's only six." She stroked the smooth forehead lightly. "Poor little thing."

"Okay. Unless there's an emergency, if you want to stay with him, that's fine with me and Mats."

"Really? " Liz looked up, startled at the unexpected suggestion. She had been expecting to be told to get back downstairs to Emergency.

"Maryann says she can cover for you. She might need to call you, but unless there's a major problem you can stay. Hate to think of any kid that age ending up in a hospital full of strangers all on his own." The surgical supervisor nodded as he walked back to his office.

Liz smiled down at JD. "You're getting to everyone aren't you, cutie? And you aren't even awake. You're probably a little monster, aren't you?" She grinned, and carried on talking quietly to the child. Later she wasn't even sure what she'd said, but she stayed with him, following the bed up to the pediatrics ward talking softly, petting the dark hair and the one free hand.

A little more than an hour later he started shifting restlessly.

"Hey, baby boy, you waking up now?" She rang the call button, and when Jake Saunders, the senior pediatric nurse, stuck his head around the door asked for ice and a doctor.

"Kid's waking up?"

"Yup, finally."

"Good." Jake smiled and hurried away. Minutes later he was back with Elza Kohen, the pediatric consultant.

"Hi Liz. How's he doing?" She picked up the chart and glanced over it, then walked up to the top of the bed, pulling back the covers to examine him.

"He's a bit restless, bp normal, temp slightly elevated, pulse slightly elevated." Liz told her, the stats coming from the machines around the kid.

"Hmm." She gently peeled back one eyelid and shone a light in. The child blinked and both eyes reluctantly opened, accompanied by a huge yawn that revealed tonsils.

"You're nearly there aren't you, honey?" Elza said quietly. "Hey JD. I'm Elza, and I'm one of the people who's going to be looking after you for a little while."

They waited as the boy digested this, and then murmured, "Da?"

"Your Da can't be here yet, sweetie," Liz explained. Sad brown eyes turned to hers and she added, "We're trying to get him here as soon as he can, okay?"

"'kay," he whispered, and drifted back to sleep.

"Sleep's best thing for him," Elza said briskly, standing to note down the changes to his stats on his chart. "He's doing pretty well, all things considered. Let me know when he wakes again. He won't be fully conscious for few hours yet." She smiled briefly at the two nurses, "Maybe his family will have got here by then."

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _10.30 am Denver FBI Building_

Sarah McKinnon listened with a growing grin to the voice on the other end of the phone.

"That is wonderful! Thank you so much. And thank Officers Caverty and Brown for me too." She checked her hastily scribbled notes for their names. She looked around the room, and when she found everyone's eyes on her turned to a new sheet of paper and wrote in large letters 'HE'S FOUND!!!!! FBI ND!!!!' and waved it at her colleagues.

Ravi sat back with a smug grin, "I *said* it was that plane to Jamestown!" he slapped his desk with both hands, "Damn, we're good."

Ferretti whooped, "Yes!" and added a soft, "Sorry!" at McKinnon's scowl. "I'll call Travis."

But Travis was nowhere to be found.

They didn't know that Jamestown PD had been passed from Larabee's phone to the judge, nearly an hour earlier. The judge had listened politely, thanked them solemnly, and once he had put the phone down, danced a jig around his spacious office to the everlasting amusement of his secretary.

He'd grabbed her hands and told her the good news, and that he was going to make a miserable little boy the happiest child on the planet.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _10.30 am, Four Corners, CO._

Vin had fallen asleep eventually, still on Mrs. Potter's lap. Nearly an hour had passed, and she was halfway asleep herself when the doorbell rang once, twice, and then whoever it was leaned on it. She put Vin down as quickly and carefully as she could trying to get to the door before he woke, but he was already stirring.

"All right, all right, lands sakes, don't wear your finger out," she pulled open the door ready to give whoever it was a piece of her mind. "Judge Travis?!"

"Where's Vin?" he asked urgently.

"What's wrong?" Vin's face was absolutely white as he emerged from behind Mrs. Potter.

Travis dropped to his knees with the ease of a much younger man and gripped Vin's shoulders, smiling into his eyes. "Don't panic, Vin-boy. They've found him. JD's been found. He's in a hospital, in North Dakota, but he's going to be fine!"

"North Dakota? What in the world?" Mrs. Potter exclaimed.

"Really?" Vin asked eagerly, "Really and truly?"

"I just spoke to a nice lady in Jamestown police department, and she was one of the people who found him. He's going to have some adventures to tell us, but he's coming home."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Vin hugged the judge fiercely, who hugged him back and frowned.

"I may never get back up again!" he murmured, and pushed himself upright, holding onto the wall for support with one hand, lifting Vin with the other. He grunted with effort. "My bones aren't what they were," he said resignedly. "Best news in the world, eh, boy?"

Vin nodded, so happy that he had no words for it and simply clung, beaming, to the man who had turned his world right side up again.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _10.40 am, H-52, ND_

Larabee's phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the legend on the screen. "It's Mrs. Potter." He pulled over and answered tensely.

"Larabee." His face changed into a smile a moment later, "Hey Vin, you okay?"

Then he froze and the others, who had just started to relax at hearing it was Vin tensed. "Are you sure? Really sure?" Aching relief and joy seemed to spread over his face, and they knew before he even said it. "Put him on."

There was a long pause, then, "Judge? Is it true?" Then, "Oh, thank God." And he dropped the phone, and dropped his head onto the steering wheel and was utterly still.

"Brother Chris?" Josiah was the only one to dare disturb him. He rested a hand on Chris's right shoulder, "What is the news? Is it--?"

Chris lifted his head, scrubbing fiercely at his eyes before looking at his three friends. "He's here. In Jamestown hospital. He's *here*."

No one needed to be told who 'he' was.

"God be praised," Josiah said with deep gratitude.

"Thank God," Nathan agreed, and Ezra nodded.

"We have been more fortunate than perhaps we deserved," he murmured. Then he raised his head, anxiety in his eyes. "In hospital? Is the child injured?"

"I--I don't know," Chris said, sounding almost bewildered. "Where's the phone?"

"On the floor where you dropped it," Josiah told him with a smile.

Chris reached down for it and put it to his ear. "Sorry, Orin, I was..."

"Yeah. That's one word for it." He drew a deep breath. "Does Buck know yet?" His face fell. "Damn. But they'll keep trying? Well, maybe the FBI are good for something after all."

"Ask him about JD," Ezra urged.

"Orin. JD. Is he okay?" Chris's hand tightened on the phone till his knuckles whitened. "Damn. Damn. Okay. We're heading there now. Yeah, we'll let you know as soon as we find out. Thank you. Thank you for calling. Yeah, put him back on."

"Hey Vin. How're you doing? Isn't it great? I'm going to see him now, and I'll call you the moment I can, I promise. " He paused, "Yeah, I love you too. We'll be home soon. I promise, we'll be careful. Bye Vin." He hung up and stared at the phone for a long moment.

"I guess you know where we're going, Ez." Chris said finally, breaking the silence.

"Me?"

"You." Chris opened the car door, slid out, and looked at his shaking hands. He showed them to Standish who gripped his wrists and grinned wildly up at him.

"I believe I should not drive either then," he replied. "Unless the infraction of some minor traffic laws is of no moment."

"Break every speed law they have, Ez. I'll even pay the fines."

"Now that," he let go of Larabee's wrists and moved round him to get inside the car, "is an offer that would be simply churlish to refuse."

Twenty minutes later they were on the outskirts of the city, following a police car to the hospital, sirens at full blast. Ezra smirked proudly as he drove. It seemed that everyone knew about the small boy who had been lost and was found, and his family who were desperate to see him.

He pulled into a parking slot in the hospital grounds, and followed his team mates as they sprinted for the entrance, police escort in tow.

"I'm Larabee, Chris Larabee, I'm looking for JD Dunne? Where is he?"

"Upstairs, pediatrics, fourth floor, turn right." The receptionist beamed at him as proudly as if she had found him herself and Ezra threw a huge grin at her as they hurried past. Chris pushed the button for the elevator, paced impatiently for all of ten seconds, then headed up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. Ezra sighed, and followed, to his considerable annoyance hearing the chime of the elevator as the door closed behind him.

"JD?" Chris said urgently to the first person he saw. The nurse pointed towards a door halfway down the corridor flanked by two armed police officers.

The policemen stood as Chris skidded to a halt in front of them. He gasped for air, and pulled out his ATF badge. "Chris Larabee. JD's guardian. Please?"

Perhaps it was the please that did it, from a man to whom begging was so clearly foreign. At any rate, the man and woman holstered their guns and she pushed the door open.

Ezra swallowed as he followed Larabee inside. A nurse. A trolley of equipment gently flickering and bleeping. And four beds, only one of which was occupied. A small smile settled on his lips and he could feel muscles he didn't even know he had tensed relaxing.

It really was the boy. He was asleep. Chris was already sitting on the edge of the boy's bed, smiling down at the form dwarfed by the full sized bed. "JD." He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the boy's forehead. "Thank you, God," he said softly. "Can I move him?"

"Not too much. He's got an little incision on his tummy that's going to pull if you're not very careful, and you can see the leg for yourself," the nurse told him. "Let me shift him, and you can sit with him."

He kicked his shoes off as she carefully raised the small body. He settled himself at the head of the bed, wrapping his arms around the boy as the nurse lowered him.

"Da?" JD asked drowsily at the familiar feel of strong arms around him, and Chris smiled into sleepy, half open eyes.

"It's Chris, JD."

"Dad," JD said contentedly, he snuggled closer and drifted back to sleep.

Ezra turned away and scrubbed at his eyes. "Damn allergies," he muttered crossly.

"Yeah," Nathan agreed, a huge grin shining out, "Damn allergies."

Josiah clapped a heavy hand on his two friends' shoulders, and gripped hard. He didn't need to say a word.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _1pm, Austin_

"Mr. Wilmington?" A court clerk hurried after him as he left for the lunch recess. His shoulders slumped. The morning had been hell. He had answered every question clearly and fully, without hesitation. Every time he looked over at Kemp the man was more and more angry. At one point, their eyes had met, and Kemp had shaken his head slowly, then drawn a finger lightly over his throat.

JD meant nothing to this monster. He knew that. It had taken every piece of willpower he had to not kill the man where he sat, every bit of faith to trust Chris Larabee, and every bit of strength to keep going despite the doubt gnawing at him.

Each word he had uttered had felt like a strip of his own soul torn away, damning himself and his son together.

His testimony had shattered Kemp's reputation. He'd been able to see it in the jurors' faces. The prosecution had even brought up the attempt to tamper with his evidence. In that sense, it had been worth it, but he couldn't help flinching when the clerk called his name again. He didn't want to know.

"Mr. Wilmington!"

He stopped and walked slowly back. "Yes?" he asked wearily.

"Phone call for you. I've put it through to the office in there." She indicated a small room that barely held a desk and bookcase.

"Thank you," he said quietly, and closed the door behind him.

A light was blinking and he slowly lifted the handset, depressed the button to connect him to the line.

"Wilmington," he said crisply. If it was one of Kemp's people then he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

"Buck, finally."

"Chris?" Buck sat abruptly in the chair behind him. "Chris?"

"I've got him, Buck, I've got him!"

He'd only heard joy like that in his friend's voice twice before. Once, when Chris had run out into the hall and hugged his friend, saying, 'it's Adam, it's Adam!", and once when the judge finally signed the adoption for Vin.

Buck swallowed hard and croaked out, "He's alive?"

"Yes!" Chris laughed, and Buck felt tears run down his face.

"Thank God. Oh, thank God. Is he all right?" he asked urgently.

There was a pause that went on a fraction of a moment too long. "He's going to be fine, Buck," Chris said firmly.

"What's wrong with him?" Buck's heart leapt to his throat and he clutched at the phone.

"Broken leg. Couple of fractured ribs. Some internal bleeding from his spleen that they cauterized. And bruises... my god, he looks like he went through the mill, but he's okay."

"Can I speak to him?"

"He's kind of sleepy, and he only came out from the anesthetic a couple of hours ago." Chris warned, then added, "Every time he wakes up he asks for you."

"Damn. I wish I could be there," he said regret husking his voice. "Hey, where *are* you?" It suddenly dawned on him he had no idea where they all were.

"North Dakota." Chris's tone was faintly exasperated, and Buck blinked.

"What the hell?"

"Kemp's sister owns a paper mill up here. We think someone arranged to keep him there. The police are looking for evidence, once he wakes up properly we'll get the kid to look at some pictures. See what we can come up with."

"Not straight away, Chris, he's only six," he protested and reddened at Chris's laugh.

"He's fine, Buck. I'm sitting here, on one of those full size hospital beds, and he's snoring with his head on my stomach. He's got this big black eye, and I'm holding an icepack over half his face. They've put a bright blue, I mean really bright, cast on his right leg. He broke the tibia, I think she said. And they had to go in, but they did a laparoscopy, a tiny little cut, hardly an inch across on his right side. He's got plasma going into his left hand and antibiotics into his elbow." Chris stopped for a moment, and then resumed, "I'm not going to forget he's only six. I'm too busy being amazed he's alive, and asleep, all sprawled out on his back, like always."

Buck smiled, JD did always sleep like that, if he felt safe. Sometimes he'd walk into a room and find him on the floor, or on the couch, or on one memorable occasion, at the bottom of the mercifully empty bath, asleep where he'd last sat down, so tired he just stopped.

"Thanks," was all he said.

"If I wasn't here, I'd be out there, hunting those bastards and down and killing them. Trust me."

"I will. I do."

A distant high pitched voice broke in and Chris laughed. "Yes, okay, that's a dollar."

Buck grinned. "All those bad words, pard. We're going to put the kids through college on swearing alone at this rate."

"Da?"

Buck's other hand flew to grip the receiver, as though he was holding JD. "Hey little britches," he choked out.

"Da," JD's voice was replete with sleepy satisfaction, "you comin' soon, Da?"

"Yeah, darlin', I'm coming real soon. Just as soon as the judge lets me go I'm coming and I ain't going to let you go for a long, long time."

"Not le'in' go neither."

Buck swallowed hard. "You be good and go to sleep, okay? You be good for Chris?"

"Okay." He heard a big yawn and pressed the receiver to his ear, eyes closed to better hear each breath.

"Mr. Wilmington? Mr. Wilmington!" A hand on his shoulder and he knocked it away. "Mr. Wilmington, you're called to the stand."

"Of, of course. Give me a minute." He wiped at his eyes and cleared his throat.

"Buck?" Chris's voice startled him and he almost protested the loss of JD's breathing. "Buck, go get the bastard. We'll bring JD home."

"I'll do that." He hesitated. "Chris--"

"I know, pard. I know."

Buck smiled. Of course he did. He gently hung up the phone and followed the impatient clerk back into the courtroom.

* * *

  



End file.
